Falls Count Anywhere
by JackDante
Summary: The path to true love is never easy, as Dave Batista discovers when he tries to win - and keep - Randy Orton's heart amidst the turmoil of the wrestling ring. OrtonBatista pairing (but no graphic scenes). Not for serious wrestling fans!
1. Body Press

**DISCLAIMER:** This is fan_fiction_. This is NOT the real 'RAW'. Dave Batista, Randy Orton and all the other characters in this piece of writing are just that – characters. I don't in any way associate these characters with their real-life counterparts. (Yep, the names used are copyright of the WWE, but the characterisation sure as hell isn't.)

Don't read this if you're squeamish about same sex relationships or if you like to take your wrestling seriously – it's slashtastic and tongue-in-cheek throughout. Now, on with the show!

**February 7th, 2003**

It had been a tough match. Two choke holds, an Irish whip an even a chair shot. It was no wonder Randy Orton was bleeding in several places, and feeling like he'd just gone through four matches against Shawn Michaels; he'd won, but it had been at a cost to his body. God dammit, but he really fucking _hurt!_ His faltering steps weren't exaggerated as he stumbled into the backstage area, giving a wave to Chris Benoit as he aimed for the dressing rooms, looking forward to a well-earned rest and some refreshments-

"Tough match, huh? You fought well." Randy looked up to see a large figure blocking his path, a towering hulk of a man over six feet tall, clad in a black T-shirt and jeans. He smirked as he leaned casually against the wall with one hand, regarding him with interest. Dave Batista. The newest member of Evolution and probably the biggest. "Never seen you pull off that move properly before. Pretty damn impressive."

"Uh… yeah. Thanks." Nodding, Randy took another step forward, trying to get past the large man in front of him. "Look, no offence, but could you – like – move? I wanna get cleaned up here."

"Maybe I'll let you get cleaned up, Orton. Maybe I won't." Batista gave a sly grin and stared down his nose at the smaller man. "Maybe I like you better when you're all cut up."

"What in the fucking…? I want to get changed, okay? Don't dick me around. You're supposed to be my team mate, not my stalker. Don't make me call security."

Frowning, Randy barged past the larger man, wondering what on earth was going on. Triple H wouldn't ever stand for this kind of shit. Sure, Evolution were supposed to be a tight-knit clique, but Batista was crossing the line here.

"Don't you _ever_ turn your back on me, Randy." Suddenly, with a dangerous growl, Batista's hand clamped down on Randy's shoulder, spinning him around and turning him to face the huge man. His grip tightened, holding him in place as he leaned in to smile at him. "Don't piss me off. I'm not a man to be reckoned with. You got that?"

"Uh-huh." Randy nodded instinctively, paling slightly. Ric Flair had warned him that Batista could be an animal, ruled by his feral desires and extremely imposing, but seeing him up close really drove the point home. Batista was pretty scary when he wanted to intimidate. "No messing. Gotcha."

"Good. Then you'll come with me."

"_What?"_  
"You'll come with me. _Now."_

Batista jerked his thumb in the direction of the locker room – which was where Randy had been headed anyway. For some reason, however, the thought of going there with Batista made him more than a little nervous. Orton had been warnedabout Dave's assertiveness,but the way the big man was acting right now wasn't like anything Randy had ever seen before. Maybe he wanted to talk tactics, or discuss how to pull off a certain move? He certainly hoped so. Still, his hands were shaking as he opened the locker room door, and he half-hoped that Ric would be in there, just so he wouldn't have to be alone with the imposing leviathan. He wasn't.

"There. You got your locker room. Happy now?" Batista closed the door behind the two of them and took a seat on one of the wooden benches, resting his arms on his huge legs, staring up at Randy. "Go on and have your shower, squirt. I don't have all day."

"Have my shower? _Have my shower_?" Randy spluttered, throwing his arms up in disbelief. "Batista – what the hell has got into you today? First you accost me in the corridor, then you tell me to get naked right here – is this a joke or something?"

"Hey, calm down, Randy. Did I _tell_ you to undress in front of me, hmm?"

"Isn't that what you _said_?"

"Is it what you _want_?"

"I never said…"

"But you _implied_." The big man smirked again and gave a low chuckle. "If you're implying I asked you to get naked, then you're the one who must have thought of it. So go on, runt, strip."

"WHAT?"

"Strip. You never seem to have a problem showing yourself off to your fans. What about your own team-mate?" Batista sat back and leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. "Come on, Randy, show me what you're made of - unless you're chicken."

"I am _not_ chicken!" he replied indignantly, already starting to unlace his boots. Whatever this hulking brute had going on his mind, Randy badly needed a shower, so he needed to get undressed anyway. "I just – well – y'know. You're a guy! I don't get undressed for guys! Not like _that_!"

"Not even _special_ guys, huh?" Batista cocked an eyebrow as he watched Randy, and the smaller wrestler couldn't help but notice that his eyes were glued to his crotch. His cheeks flushed a bright pink from embarrassment. This wasn't happening. This was just some weird dream; he'd wake up soon, wake up in the middle of the ring having been knocked unconscious, wake up in his own bed having eaten too much cheese. Yeah. That had to be it. "Come on, runt! Show me what you've got!"

Fine, then. If this was some crazy dream – or even if it wasn't – he wouldn't give Batista the pleasure of calling him a chicken, or a pussy, or a wuss. What was there to be scared of, anyway? It wasn't like they hadn't showered together before – sometimes the venues had had crowded changing rooms – and he did have a well-toned body. He didn't have anything to be scared of. Did he?

"There." With a defiant pout, Randy threw his boots to one side and yanked his wrestling pants down, exposing himself completely. He gave a snort and kicked off his skimpy underwear, planting his hands on his hips, staring at Batista with a look of triumph. That'd teach him to be so smug! To Randy's consternation, though, Batista didn't seem downheartened or disappointed with the smaller man's bravado. In fact, his smile had widened enough to expose a flash of white teeth, and in a few moments, Batista was laughing heartily.

"Oh, man! You did it! You actually _did_ it!" he chuckled, shaking his head and staring at Randy's groin. "I didn't think you'd have the guts, rookie. I thought you'd freak out and flip on me."

"I'm not a kid!"

"Hell, I can see _that_." Batista smirked and indicated Randy's genitals, seemingly pleased by them. "But let's not stop there, shall we? Let's have some more fun, huh?"

Before Randy knew what was happening, Batista had hauled himself to his feet and was pulling his shirt off over his head, throwing it casually one side to expose his rippling chest and shoulders; then came his shoes and his jeans, the belt being cast down onto the bench, the jeans following soon after. He didn't seem to have any shame in completely exposing himself to Orton, and in all fairness, he had no need to to. His body was practically perfect. Randy found his eyes drawn to Batista's naked flesh, his toned pectorals, his elaborate tattoos; something inside him screamed at him to get out of there, to grab his trunks and run for the door before anything else happened. It was one thing to share a shower with your team-mate, it was something else entirely to stare at them as they stripped naked in front of you, watch them like a hawk, study the form of their chest and the line of every tattoo.

"Can I... can touch them?" Randy murmured, his voice seeming to come from a long way away, his mind detaching itself from his hormones. God! What was wrong with him today? Why did he suddenly find himself drawn to Batista, wanting to experience his team-mate in ways he never had before? He couldn't explain it; he just knew that right now, he had to be close to him.

"Go ahead." Batista smiled and worked his shoulders, grinning as the smaller man stepped closer. Gingerly, delicately, Randy placed a hand upon his massive chest, feeling the big man's heartbeat, feeling the way his shoulders rose and fell as his breathing quickened. His fingers traced a slowline up to his shoulders, squeezing at the hardness of Batista's muscles; why did his own heart have to beat so fast? Why was he so sudenly overwhelmed at being so close to the leviathan? He and Batista had had plenty of practice matches before, had worked on each others' moves, so why was it so different now? Orton gasped as he glanced up at the huge man, swallowing nervously.

"Dave..." His voice trembled, betraying the intensity of the emotions which threatened to overwhelm him. "Dave, I..."

"Don't say it, Randy. I know." Batista's reassuring grin was a great comfort, one of the brute's huge hands reaching out to rest upon Randy's shoulder. He had hoped Randy would feel the same way, had been watching him for weeks, ever since he had first caught a glimpse of him backstage. Even then, Batista had been captivated by the smaller man's delicious curves, his sculpted chest and lithe movements. To see him reacting like this - to see Randy Orton trembling before him, to have his fingers running over his flesh - it was almost too much for Batista to bear. Panting, his mouth opening, the leviathan took hold of Randy's smooth chin, drawing it to his mouth for a passionate kiss-

"Batista? Batista, are you in there? I want to talk about the match tonight." Ric Flair's voice shattered the moment as if it had been made of delicate glass. The oldest member of Evolution rapped on the door and called out again, hoping to find his enforcer. "Batista? If you're in there, I'm coming in now!"

With a terrified squeak, Randy sprung back and grabbed at his trunks, struggling to haul them on as the door opened; Batista merely sighed and folded his arms across his chest, planting his feet squarely on the locker room floor. As Flair stepped inside, he caught a glimpse of Orton fleeing for the shower, leaving a naked and mostly stern Batista to stare at Ric Flair with annoyance and irritation.

"Was I... interrupting something?" Ric Flair's brow furrowed as he glanced after a blushing Randy before turning back to the animal in front of him.

"Not really. We hadn't got started yet." Batista answered with a slight grin, which only served to confuse Flair further. Without skipping a beat, the huge man grabbed a towel from one of the hooks and wrapped it about his waist, setting himself down on one of the wooden benches and looking up at Ric Flair. Damn it! He'd been so close to finally getting a hold of Randy, and Flair had to come along and spoil it all! No matter; there'd be other venues, other locker rooms. He would just have to be patient. Whatever Ric Flair had to say to him right now, his thoughts would be on other matters, but it wouldn't hurt to try and learn something about technique. Sighing, Batista sat back and prepared himself for yet another lecture on pin falls.


	2. Grapple

**February 8th, 2003**

Batista's hands were shaking as he gripped the cell phone; he wasn't quite sure how Randy would react after yesterday's incident in the locker room. Hell, he'd be surprised if the younger man even answered. He hadn't seen him since yesterday – after finishing his hasty shower, Orton had grabbed his things and left in a hurry, uttering a gruff few words to him and Ric Flair before rushing out of the door and retreating to the safety of his hotel room. Batista had listened to Flair's advice as closely as possible, but he'd been distracted by thoughts of the intimate moment he and Randy had been so close to sharing.

In fact, he had thought of little else since the smaller man had left his sight. What worried him the most was that Randy would be afraid of him now, paranoid that Batista would jump him from behind like a terrier in heat. He already knew that Randy was scared of his own feelings; that much had been evident from the way he had trembled when he'd been kissed, the way his hands had hesitated when they'd played on his naked skin. He would have to tread carefully now if he truly wanted to win Orton over.

"Randy? Randy. It's Dave." Batista swallowed anxiously as Randy picked up the phone. Now it was the leviathan's turn to feel nervous. He'd deliberately called Randy's hotel room instead of his cell phone so he wouldn't be able to see it was Batista's number. How would Orton react to that? Would he try and get him to go away? What if he cut him off?

"Oh. Uh… hi." Randy sounded apprehensive too, clearing his throat several times before he could speak properly. "Dave. It's you. I was expecting someone else."

"Oh." Batista couldn't keep the disappointment from his voice. Who else would Randy want to call him other than some gorgeous girlfriend? Not that Orton had ever mentioned anything about a girlfriend… but how could he _not_ be taken? Batista kicked himself for not thinking of that! Why would Randy not already be involved with someone else? He was young and virile, toned and fit. Hordes of air-headed women probably chased him all the time. To make matters worse, Dave swore he could hear Randy snickering on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah. I was expecting a phone call from someone important, just some girl I know."

"Who? Who have you met, Randy?" Batista struggled to keep the frustration from his voice, the disappointment from his words, yet at the same time try and sound pleased for his team-mate. How could Orton think it was okay to act like that with him in the locker room last night and then go stringing women along like so many fashion accessories? Not only that, Randy was making it sound like the other phone call he had been expecting meant far more to him than Batista's. It was almost as if the younger man was making fun of him, and that hurt.  
"No-one I haven't seen before!" Randy laughed, warming to the conversation now. "Calm down, Dave. I was only expecting a call from my mom."

"Your _mom_?" Batista felt his cheeks flush a deep scarlet, even as he began to laugh. Of course Randy would be expecting a call from her! She always called when he was on the road. "Damn, how stupid do I feel now?"

"Don't feel bad." Randy's voice sounded more relaxed, much calmer. "I was just messing with you, Dave. What did you really want to talk about?"

Crap! After that initial misunderstanding, Batista had almost forgotten why he had called Randy in the first place! Memories of last night's encounter filled his head again, the warm touch of Orton's fingers on his skin, the way he had pressed his lips so lovingly against the younger man's sweet mouth; every curve and line of his body were imprinted onto Batista's mind, every smile and sly grin. If Flair hadn't turned up, there was no telling what could have happened.

"Randy, I just wanted to say… um… about last night…"

"Last night. Oh."

"Yeah." An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them, their phones going quiet. It took Batista a moment or two to recover himself before he continued talking. "I just wanted to say that… well… I hope I didn't come on too strong or anything. I didn't want to scare you."

"You didn't scare me." Orton gave a nervous laugh which sounded forced. "If anyone scared me, it was Ric. I thought I was gonna die when he barged in like that."

"I didn't scare you?" Batista's heart skipped a beat. That was far more than he had hoped for. He didn't want to exact an answer out of the younger man, but he had wanted some kind of hint as to his feelings. "You were shaking last night, Randy... your hands were shaking. Did I push you too far? If it made you uncomfortable... if I made you feel bad... I swear I won't do anything like that again. Write it off as me being excited about the night's match or something."

"No, it's not that, I... I guess I'm just not used to this kind of stuff." It sounded like Randy was sighing. "I just need some time to think. I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on with me right now, I just... I just need some space. I'm a bit confused. Look, I should go, my mom's probably trying to call me."

"Sure thing." Batista felt his heart lurch, but he would get nowhere by bothering his tag partner with constant phone calls and bombarding him with voice messages. If Randy needed time to think things over, at least it meant that he had some feelings he needed to sort out, and that was better than having none at all. He was still so young, so unsure; no wonder he felt insecure about the situation. Batista would give him the space he needed, no matter how hard it would be. "You keep yourself out of trouble, okay?"

"I can't make any promises, Dave, but I'll try."

"You do that." Batista managed a warm smile, which was reflected in the sound of his voice. "And I promise I'll try, too. Look after yourself, squirt. I'll catch you later."

**February 10th, 2003 **

Two days. _Two stupid days!_ It had been two whole days since Batista had dared to touch on the subject of him and Randy, and his cell phone had been worryingly quiet ever since. It felt like the longest two days of his life. He didn't want to keep calling in case Orton thought he was some kind of stalker; he didn't want to scare the younger man away. Instead, Batista had thrown himself into his training with gusto, trying to keep his mind off the situation by exercising and going through his usual routine, alternating gym sessions with more gentle activities such as surfing online and reading a book here and there. It was no good, however. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Randy Orton.

After a restless afternoon, it was time to start preparing for another television appearance. For the first time in many months, Batista found himself standing in front of his bathroom mirror desperately wondering what to wear for the RAW show that night. It was make-or-break time. He really wanted Randy to notice him. A loose shirt? No, it showed too much bare chest. A suit? Too formal. An Evolution T-shirt? Too casual, and he didn't want to look like he was trying to match whatever Orton might be wearing. In the end, he settled for a tight black shirt which clung nicely to his rippling chest, showing off his assets without being too brash. He was glad when the limo finally arrived, and as he climbed into the back seat, he was greeted by an enthusiastic Ric Flair and a smug-looking Triple H.

"Batista! It's the beast himself! How's it going?"

"I'm good." Batista nodded at Ric Flair and The Game, a slight smile curving up the corners of his mouth. He'd half-hoped Randy would already be in the limo, but a part of him was relieved that he'd have time to prepare for their next meeting. There was no telling what would happen if Triple H knew how he felt about the smaller wrestler. "Where's Randy? He is coming tonight, right?"

"Didn't he call you?" Ric asked. "We're picking him up last. He had something to take care of."

"Oh? And what would that be?" Batista's tone hardened slightly, partly because Ric Flair seemed to imply he and Randy were already becoming something more than tag partners, but mostly because it sounded like Randy was keeping something from him. "I haven't spoken to him for a couple of days. What's he up to?"

"He wouldn't say. Just that he needed a bit more time to get ready."

"Fair enough, I guess." The big man settled back onto his seat and shifted his weight, staring out of the tinted window, wondering what kind of game Randy was playing. Ric Flair and Triple H resumed the conversation they'd been having before Batista had stepped in - something about Vince McMahon and Eric Bischoff - but the huge man only half-listened to the exchange. He was too busy trying to think why Randy would choose to call Flair instead of him; so busy, in fact, that he only noticed at the last minute that the limo had stopped, that the door was being opened and that Randy Orton was climbing inside the vehicle to take a seat next to him.

"Hey, guys." Randy grinned and nodded at the three of them, settling himself back in his seat and shrugging off the light jacket he'd been wearing to reveal a loose white shirt. For a brief moment, Batista felt a surge of joy as he noticed that their outfits complimented each other without looking like they'd deliberately dressed that way. Then he realised what he'd been thinking and tried desperately to pretend that he hadn't. "Did I miss anything?"

"Not a thing. Me and Ric were just talking about how we're gonna have some fun with Eric Bischoff tonight. Isn't that right, Dave?"

"Uh... yeah." Batista nodded curtly. It wasn't like he'd been listening. And now that Randy was here - here, wearing an outfit which made him look good enough to eat -Batista really couldn't think of anything much except how breathtakingly gorgeous he appeared. He phased out slightly as Flair and Triple H spoke to Orton, all the words he'd planned to say to Randy vanishing from his mind, even though he'd thought about them so carefully over the past few days. Batista's sense of logic seemed to disappear completely whenever Randy was around, and his mind wandered as he stared at the younger man, just watching him as he talked. Two days of planning what he was going to say, and now he could barely even utter a simple 'hello'!

By the time Batista had gathered his thoughts, Ric Flair and The Game had gone onto another topic, their discussion so heated and involved that they barely even noticed what the other two members of Evolution were doing.Perhaps itwas just as well; Randy Orton had had a lot of time to think since the other night, since the way he'd stood naked in front of his team-mateandbeen lost in a whirlwind of emotions. He'd considered what was in hisheart, thought about what might result if he took this step and returned Batista's feelings, and there was only one logical solution. Steeling himself, Randy reached out and placed his hand firmly on Batista's leg, his fingers feeling warm and comforting even through the material of the large man's trousers.

Batista just smiled.


	3. Taunt

**February 10th, 2003 – After The Show**

"Finally! I thought we'd _never _get away from those two!" Randy grinned as he slumped against the locker room wall, one arm leaning against the painted breezeblocks, the other folded over his forehead. "If I didn't know better, I'd say Ric and Triple H were trying to keep an eye on us all night. Just what we need! Our own personal stalkers!"

The show tonight had been so refreshing, so different; instead of concentrating on the matches at hand, the night had passed by in a blur, Orton and Batista spending the hours snatching glances at each other whenever Triple H and Ric Flair hadn't been looking. With every glance, Orton's cheeks had flushed a deep red and a shiver had run down Batista's spine, both of them excited by their newfound romance. At the end of the night, they'd climbed into the limo along with the rest of Evolution; but Batista had craved time alone with Randy and had made up some excuse about leaving part of his kit behind, which was how the pair of them had managed to escape Flair and Triple H.

"Maybe they noticed something was up." Batista smiled in return. "I mean, you didn't _have_ to keep groping my leg in the limo."

"Like you _wanted _me to stop." Randy pushed himself away from the wall with a snicker and stepped closer to Batista, his eyes shining.

"A little subtlety wouldn't have gone amiss. They almost saw us."

"And that would have mattered why?"

"You haven't seen Triple H when he's jealous, have you?" Batista reached out and touched at Randy's skin, his fingers resting on the younger man's broad shoulders. "He likes to get all the attention, rookie, whether romantic or otherwise. If he knows I'm more important to you than he is, there'll be hell to pay."

"But they're bound to find out sometime, right?" Randy asked, a flicker of worry showing in his eyes. If nothing else, the young man found himself strangely proud of the bond he had formed with Batista; even though he was still unsure of himself, he wanted people to know about the relationship in the long run. It just felt right.

"I'm guessing they already know, or at least suspect something. Why else would they have followed us around like a pair of hawks? Don't worry about it, runt. What can they do about it, anyway? If they have a problem with it – if anyone ever gives you any trouble about it – send them to me, and it's me they'll have to answer to."

"Thanks, Batista." That, at least, was reassuring. Batista was big and strong, and pretty damn imposing when he wanted to be, as Randy already knew. He wouldn't put up with any shit from anyone. Even though Orton himself was no pushover, he felt so much safer knowing that the huge man was looking out for him.

"Dammit, this can wait, anyway. I'm starving. Do you wanna get some food?"

"Sure. What kind of thing were you thinking of?"

"Whatever you want. I'm so hungry right now, I could eat a Goldberg."

"Sure thing, squirt. I could eat a whole Big Show myself." Batista snickered and grabbed his jacket, leading Randy towards the door and the taxi rank. "And as for what I'll be having for dessert… we'll have to wait and see."

* * *

There weren't that many places open at three in the morning, so the couple settled on a fast food joint on the main road leading out of town, its near-vacant booths lit by the anaemic glow of neon strip lights. Their taxi pulled up alongside the menu outside, giving the two of them plenty of time to decide on their food before heading in to order. There were only a scattering of patrons inside, and if any of them did recognise the two wrestlers who walked up to the counter and ordered, they didn't show it. It took a few minutes for the food to arrive, and when it did, Batista took the tray and carried it over to a booth by the window so they could watch the cars drive by. Randy grabbed a few sachets of sauce, and a couple of napkins, then scuttled over to where Batista had chosen a seat.

The diner was neutral ground, and that suited Batista just fine. Despite Randy Orton's casual attitude, it was still clear that the younger man was nervous about their mutual attraction. It was almost as if he were over-compensating, putting on a bold front to disguise his inner uncertainty; Batista had seen plenty of people do that before, whether in a dating situation or otherwise. He had had plenty more life experience than the youthful rookie sitting opposite him, and he decided that it was far better to address the issue now than to let it fester between them. If he allowed Randy's discomfort to continue, it could cause problems, and he just wanted to be comfortable with the younger man, make him smile. For a few moments, though, the two of them were hungry enough to forget about conversation until their appetites had been sated; Batista wolfed down most of his burger before looking up at Randy, wiping his mouth on one of the napkins as he cleared his throat to speak.

"So. Randy. You've never dated a guy before."

"No." Randy's answer was curt, shy. "Have you?"

"No." Batista grinned as Randy's eyes widened, amused to see that the smaller man was surprised by his answer. "Not that I haven't looked. I mean, c'mon – do you really think I'd spend all that time in the dressing rooms just ignoring the guys around me? There's nothing wrong with appreciating what people have got."

"I… I guess not." Randy was blushing again, and had started to eat his burger as though he were trying to hide behind it. "I just thought… the way you came onto me like that… you seemed so experienced…"

"It's just confidence." Batista smirked and reached over to pat Randy on the shoulder. "Maybe I haven't been with guys before, but I've been with a few girls…"

"Are you saying I'm a girl?" Randy's head shot up, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"No, that's… oh, shit. No. That's not what I'm saying!" Batista stammered, attempting to cover up his mistake, but it was too late.

"Well, that's what it sounds like to _me_!" Randy continued, holding out one of his French Fries and gesticulating at his larger companion, putting on a gruff voice to imitate his partner. "Oh _no_, Randy, I've never dated a guy before, Randy, but I've dated _lots_ of girls, because I am just so damned_ hot_, and you're such a girl, Randy, you can't help but _want_ me!"

"Now, hold on a minute here…"

Batista's stern reprimand – if there had been one on the way – was halted mid-sentence as his younger partner broke into a grin and started to giggle. The larger man frowned for a moment, taken aback by Randy's sudden laughter, then blushed in embarrassment as he realised the younger man had been joking all along. He wasn't offended after all. Batista shook his head in disbelief and carried on eating, letting Randy enjoy his victory for now. That was what he found so attractive in the young man, someone whose sense of humour and mental capacity matched his own; still, he'd have to pay for getting one over on him!

* * *

It had gone 4am before the two wrestlers made it to the hotel where they'd booked in for the night. Luckily, there was a 24-hour check-in, and Batistahanded the taxi driver a generous tip as one of the hotel staff hurried down togreet them. The large wrestler hauled his suitcase out of the trunk before helping Randy with his luggage, the two of them easily managing three bags between themselves as they strodeto the reception desk, where a bored and weary-looking receptionist glanced up at them with a distinct lack of interest.

"Hey." Batista nodded at the woman and indicated himself and Randy. "Is there a double room booked for the two of us? Under the name Bautista?"

Randy's eyes widened in shock as his tired brain registered what Batista had just said. A double room? They were going to share a room already? But they'd only just started dating! Did Batista really want to move that fast? Not that Randy would complain, but still – damn! That was some sex drive!

"No, I'm sorry, sir. I have a single room for a Mister. D. Bautista, and a single room for a Mister R. K. Orton. Is everything alright?"

"Oh, that's fine. I just thought there might have been some kind of mistake." Batista turned to the side and winked at Randy, a wicked grin on his face. He'd been messing around just to see what kind of reaction he'd get from his partner, just to see how Randy would act if the idea of sharing a bed with Batista was suddenly put into his head, and judging from the shocked look on Orton's face, the ruse had worked. Spluttering and cursing under his breath, Randy flushed a deep scarlet and grabbed his bag as the keys were handed over, Batista joining him to head up to their rooms.

"I swear, Batista, I am going to have to keep an eye on you." Randy growled at the larger man as they headed up in the elevator. "I seriously thought you were going to… well… y'know…"

"Not tonight, squirt. I think you need your beauty sleep." Batista smiled at the smaller man and patted him on the shoulder. "Right, this is my floor. Yours is the next one up. I'll see you at breakfast, okay?" He stepped closer, leaned over, and delivered a swift peck to Randy's cheek, a soft kiss which made the smaller man's skin burn, echoing the desires burning within him, making him sigh – then the elevator doors opened, and Batista was gone.

Randy heaved a lonely sigh, clutched at his doorkey, and made his way dreamily to his hotel room, tired and alone.


	4. Body Punch

Wherever he was, Batista usually liked to start the day with a wholesome glass of fresh orange juice - but today, it just didn't taste the same. He'd spent most of last night tossing and turning in his hotel bed, laying awake and thinking of Randy, picturing the way the younger man had gazed at him so longingly as the lift doors had slid shut. He'd even made sure he was at the breakfast bar by 8, just in case Randy had decided on an early start; as a result, he'd barely slept at all. Now the clock was nearing 9am, and of Randy, there was still no sign.

"Batista! Where on earth did you get to last night?" A meaty hand suddenly clamped down on Batista's shoulder. Glancing round, he saw that it belonged to a freshly-showered and clean-shaven Triple H. "Me and Ric stayed up for a while in case you wanted to chat after you got back. What happened?"

"Randy got hungry, so we went and grabbed some food." As if that settled the matter, Batista opened another packet of jelly and started to spread it over a new slice of toast. "Why, did I miss something?"

"Did you _miss_ something." Triple H repeated Batista's words and glanced at Flair, seeming to seek approval for what he was about to say. Flair nodded, and Triple H continued, "Batista – when you joined this team, you knew it wasn't going to be easy. You knew that we'd ask a lot of you – and we took you on because we thought you could meet that challenge." Completely uninvited, Triple H took a seat beside Batista and helped himself to a bread roll. "Evolution are the _best_, Batista, and we intend to keep it that way. That doesn't just mean showing up for matches and training – it means meeting up afterwards, thinking about every move you've made, deconstructing every match, talking about the way you do things. They don't call me the Cerebral Assassin for nothing."

Grinning, Triple H smirked at Flair, the older man patting him appreciatively on the shoulder, his face splitting into his usual vacant smile as he, too, took a seat at the table.

Although Batista seemed to join his mentors in their smug-fest, inwardly, he was seething with impatience. Where _was_ Randy Orton? Surely he should have turned up by now? Judging by the younger man's reactions last night, he was as eager as Batista to continue the relationship. So why hadn't he come down to breakfast yet?

"Where is Randy this morning, anyway?" As if echoing Batista's thoughts, Ric Flair cut in, a frown creasing his brow. "I hoped he'd be here already. We need to pack up and move on, and there's some things I want to discuss on the way. Since we're still getting used to working as a team, we need to talk about group tactics and co-ordination."

Batista noted with interest that again, _he_ was the one who was expected to know Randy's whereabouts. Evidently, Ric Flair had quickly picked up on the fact that Randy and Batista had bonded – but did Ric know just _how_ well the two of them were getting along? It wasn't enough to freak Batista out, but it did make him feel a little unsettled. It seemed like Triple H and Flair suspected he wasn't telling them the whole truth about what had happened last night.

"I guess he's having a lie-in," Batista suggested, shrugging his broad shoulders. It was as good an answer as he could give. "I'll go see if I can find him. I could do with having a chat to him myself."

Triple H raised his eyebrows at this, but Batista ignored him and finished his piece of toast, wiping his mouth on a napkin and leaving it on his plate. He was more than glad to offer an excuse and leave. For some reason, he was finding his team-mates' company irritating and oppressive this morning, and he wanted to get away as quickly as possible. Maybe it was because he didn't want them to know the truth about him and Randy, at least, not yet; after all, Ric Flair had nearly flipped when he'd walked in on the two of them the other day. He gave both Triple H and Flair a curt nod, then left them to dig into the basket of breakfast rolls as he went in search of Orton.

* * *

He didn't have to look far. As soon as he left the dining room, he turned a corner and spotted Randy glued to one of the hotel's computer terminals, no doubt enjoying the free internet service provided by the hotel itself. For a moment, Batista felt slightly put out that Randy would choose to go online first thing in the morning instead of rushing to see him, but he soon thrust that thought aside. The younger man liked to keep in touch with his family; Batista already knew that from his phone conversation the other day. He was probably just checking his e-mail. It was… well… kind of cute.

"Hey! Randy!" Even though he'd tried to hide the emotion in his voice, Batista was unable to mask the happiness he felt at seeing his partner. "What are you up to, runt? Don't you know you're not supposed to look at porn on a public computer?"

Randy's cheeks flushed a deep scarlet as he glanced up at Batista, but by the grin on the smaller man's face, it was obvious that his blushes weren't mere embarrassment at Batista's joke. With a surge of relief, Batista made his way over to Randy, pleased to see that the flush of the younger wrestler's cheeks reflected his feelings.

What was strange, though, was Randy's other reaction at seeing Batista heading towards him. The younger man's gaze returned to the screen, and he clicked frantically with his mouse, as if closing down several windows; by the time Batista reached him, the only visible website was Google, and the 'Search' option was blank. Before he could ask about that, though, Randy had turned to greet him.

"Hey." Randy smiled and reached out as if to touch Batista, but pulled back as he realised he was in a public place.

"Hey." The bigger man responded with a nod, also trying to remain subtle after his initial greeting. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, I guess." Randy ran his fingers through his short hair; they were shaking slightly, possibly from the excitement of seeing Dave again. "Took me a while to get to sleep, though. I was… uh… thinking."

"Yeah?" Batista cocked his head to one side.

"Yeah. Y'know. About stuff. About us."

"And?"

"And…" Randy took a deep breath, steadying himself for the rest of what he was about to say. Even then, he practically mumbled his next few words, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. "And… if we _had_ shared a room last night… then… I wouldn't have minded."

Batista opened his mouth to say something, but words failed him. What the hell was he _supposed_ to say in reply to that? He couldn't deny that he'd been more than eager to seduce Randy; that much had been obvious. Then again, he hadn't wanted to come on too strong, to make such bold moves so soon. He'd have felt like he was coercing Randy into something he wasn't ready for yet. But to hear Randy say he wanted him… God! It sent shivers down his spine just thinking about it!

"Randy, I..." Batista finally summoned the courage to speak, wanting to reassure his partner. He was well aware that this was a new situation for both of them. "It's okay, you don't have to agree to anything if you're not ready..."

"It's okay. Look, anyway, I - uh - I gotta go pack. I'll catch you later, alright?" Randy heaved a sigh and headed in the opposite direction, leaving a bewildered Batista to stare after him as he disappeared. The older man couldn't help but grin to himself. He'd obviously left more of an impression than he'd first thought, and that gave him hope.

* * *

Now that Randy was gone, though, it only left more unanswered questions in Batista's head. Why had his companion clicked so frantically at the computer when he'd arrived unannounced? What was the younger man hiding? He knew he shouldn't be suspicious, but Batista couldn't help but wonder what secrets Randy held. After all, he was pretty damn gorgeous; it wouldn't be a surprise to learn that Randy had other admirers. The only problem was whether his partner would be responding to their advances.

Closing hishuge fingets over the mouse, Batistabrought up the history on the browser window – nothing unusual there. Hotmail, eBay, Google… the usual kinds of things he'd expect to find on a public computer. So why had Randy seemed anxious when Batista had appeared behind him? Had he been writing secret e-mails to someone, perhaps? No, it couldn't be. If Randy was seeing anyone, he would have told Batista. The younger man's affection was most definitely genuine, if his adolescent blushes were anything to go by. He wouldn't get any answers here. Shrugging, Batista walked away and returned to his room, packing his case with a pronounced pout.


	5. Standing Crossface

It was late morning by the time Evolution were finally packing up and preparing to move on. Flair and Triple H intended to head straight for their next destination to do some training before the next RAW; it made sense for Batista and Randy to go along too, so they could work out with the rest of their team-mates. Evolution may have been emerging as a formidable force in the WWE, but all four of them were still learning to adapt to each others'moves. Logically, more practice meant better results, as Ric Flair kept enthusiastically reminding them.

Flair and Triple H had already discussed taking a taxi to the airport, and had phoned through with their plans, which suited Batista just fine; he really didn't feel like being alone with Randy right now. Sure, he was absolutely besotted with the younger man, but Randy's recent behaviour was starting to grate on his nerves. Randy had been the last one to get picked up by the limo the other week, allegedly sorting out 'private business'; he had left Batista hanging for a whole two days after the older man had made his first moves; and now he seemed reluctant to share his computer dealings with Batista, even though he'd been using a computer in public view.

The whole thing was starting to drive Batista crazy, and his nasty mood showed as he arrived in the hotel lobby.  His foul temper was obvious from the moment he stepped through the lift doors, his feet stamping down against the carpeted floor, his case being dragged heavily behind him; he stormed over to the reception desk and paid his bill before joining the rest of Evolution by the front doors, still scowling.

"Is everything alright, Batista?" Triple H asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow and taking a closer look at his team-mate.  "You look _pissed_."

"I'm fine." Batista cleared his throat and glanced at Randy, but the younger man was unable to meet his gaze. Interesting. If Batista didn't know better, he'd say Randy was feeling guilty about something.  "Let's just go, shall we?"

"Batista's right.  Let's get moving." It was Flair who spoke next, assuming his usual fatherly role. "We need to check-in at the airport by two, and it's almost half-twelve already. C'mon!"

Nodding in agreement, Triple H, Batista and Randy followed their mentor, making their way to the taxi rank in uncomfortable silence.

* * *

By two o' clock, Evolution had reached the departure lounge of the airport; Flair was reading a book on wrestling greats, Triple H had stuck on a pair of headphones and Randy had been poring over a newspaper for the past half hour whilst Batista had settled down with a novel he'd just bought from one of the airport bookshops.  It was just what he'd needed, the big wrestler realised, as he tried to lose himself in the pages of the story; escapism, imagination, something else to think about other than the delicate romantic situation he'd seemed to have gotten himself into.  At least, until Randy started talking to him.

"What book's that?"  Randy leaned over and tapped at the book's cover, his voice sounding almost forced.  "It looks alright."

"Oh, it's nothing too great. They only tend to sell the mainstream crap here." In reply, Batista held up his book for Randy to see, a supposedly thrilling tale of espionage and treachery in late-eighties Hong Kong. _'ASTOUNDING!'_ claimed the cover, but Batista seemed less than impressed. "Not the usual thing I'd choose, but it passes the time, I guess."

Batista mentally checked himself as he answered the younger wrestler. He hadn't _meant _to sound so friendly, so compliant; after being in such a terrible mood all morning, he'd wanted to at least sound annoyed, to let Randy know how much his secretive behaviour was irritating him. Instead, though, he found himself speaking softly to Randy, responding to the younger man's questions as though the two of them were talking intimately and alone.  Damn it, it was like Randy had a hold on him that even he hadn't noticed until now.

"I know what you mean." Randy smiled that annoyingly charming smile, the one that had first caught Batista's attention so many weeks ago.  "It's so hard to find something cool to read around here.  Look, I found this under the seat.  You really think I want to be sitting here reading a copy of the 'Financial Times'? Gimme a break!  Like I could _ever _concentrate on something for that long!"

"Delinquent."  Batista grinned and batted playfully at Randy, who backed away with a snicker.  Damn!  How on earth was Randy able to wear him down so easily?  No matter how annoyed he seemed to get with the younger man, Batista could be won over with a smile or a laugh.  By the time the flight to Ohio was called, he found himself regretting the fact that he'd be sat next to Triple H instead.

* * *

Batista sighed and rubbed a fresh towel over his wet hair. Today had been stressful, more stressful than most; admittedly, the flight had been relaxing, but he'd had a lot of things to think about.  His mind was still in turmoil from Randy's strange behaviour, not to mention the way he'd melted in the younger man's presence, even though he'd been determined to make a stand.  In the end, Batista had decided that a hot shower was just what he needed, and so had made his excuses and retired from their training session early, making his way back to his new hotel room to freshen up.  He'd found that after an invigorating wash, his mind had cleared somewhat, and he lost much of the tension that had been making him ache all day. 

Now, he was sat in front of the TV drying himself off and cherishing his privacy.  He was free to think, free to consider just how much Randy Orton meant to him - and he had to admit that after a lot of soul-searching, he didn't want to let the young man go.  But what about Randy's secrets?  What about the way Randy wanted to spend time alone away from him?  Batista just wanted to know where he stood.

"Batista?  Are you in there?"  A voice called from the other side of the door.  "It's me, Randy.  Can I come in?"

"Hang on a second."  Batista grunted in reply and grabbed one of the larger bath towels he'd laid out on the bed, tying it about his waist before strolling over to the door.  He was in two minds whether to let the younger man in after the emotional trouble he'd caused, and slightly irritated at having his train of thought derailed, but what the hell.  He'd see what Randy had to say.  And besides... besides, every time he saw Randy Orton, his heart skipped a beat.  Smirking to himself, he opened the door just enough to reveal the smaller man's face, and mustered as much false worry as he could.  "What is it?  Did Flair's pacemaker give out again?"

"Flair has a pacemaker?"  Randy's face blanched in concern, then his cheeks flushed a bright scarlet as he realised, once again, that Batista had been joking.  "Oh.  Oh, I... yeah.  Heh."

"Come on in, runt," Batista sighed, bowing to the inevitable and throwing the door wide open, letting Randy walk in past him to stand by the TV.  He didn't know what Randy would make of seeing him in his bath towel, but no matter.  It wasn't like the room was filled with candles, rose petals and Frank Sinatra on the stereo or anything.  Randy could think what he liked.  "What's _really _the matter?"

"Oh, nothing really, I guess."  The younger man scratched nervously at the back of his neck, his gaze going anywhere but Batista, who had settled himself back down on the edge of the bed, his towel still draped about his waist.  "I just - uh - wanted to ask you something.  But I didn't want to ask it in front of the other two, they'd have thought I was crazy or something."

"Right.  So you came up here to ask me in person.  Couldn't you have phoned?"  Batista cocked his head on one side and rubbed at his chin.  "Wouldn't _that_ have made more sense than coming all the way up here?"

"If _that's _the way you're going to be, I'll just go, okay?"  Randy seemed to take Batista's jibes to heart, and turned on his heel to leave.  "Anyway, I've gotta go check on something…"

"Hold it right there." Batista's thick fingers closed immediately about Randy's wrist, digging into his flesh, and he used the momentum of the gesture to rise to his feet. "You're not going _anywhere_, Randy. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on around here."

"What the…?"

"Don't play coy with me." Batista's voice had changed now into an angry growl, his brow furrowing, his frustration manifesting itself as a hostile command.  The smaller man's cover-ups and little white lies had finally gotten to him, and he wanted answers. "You know damn well what I'm talking about. The way you've been avoiding me, the way you keep rushing off to check the nearest computer, the way you don't seem able to spend time around me recently without getting nervous. Do you really think I haven't noticed?"

"I just..."

"You just _what,_ Randy?  You just want to keep stringing me along so you feel like you have even more admirers?  We're either in this together, or else you walk out that door, and we never talk about this again." Batista swallowed painfully and sighed, but he meant every word. He wouldn't be drawn into a relationship built upon secrecy and betrayal. "If there's anyone else, Randy – if there's anything going on behind my back – tell me now. Tell me now, and you can leave and be with her, and we don't ever have to worry about this again."

"What?" Randy's head snapped up, his eyes wide. He couldn't bring himself to believe what Dave had just said, not after the way Batista had been pursuing him so avidly for the past few weeks. "What did you just say?"

"Get out, Randy. I don't want this." Batista seemed to have a lump in his throat, and his eyes were welling up, but his voice remained firm, his mind unchanging. "I don't want lies, or deception, or any more half-assed excuses. I just want…_ fuck_ it, Randy! If I can't have you all to myself, I don't want you _at all_!"

Randy's eyes dropped once more to the floor, his breath catching in his throat. He felt himself quivering, his whole body shaking, a mixture of nervousness and sexual tension. He knew that Batista truly meant every word - and he also knew that he'd rather tap out to Justin Credible than risk losing his partner.  There was only one thing to do, only one way to show Dave Batista how he truly felt; he took a deep breath, slid an arm about Batista's shoulder, and drew him into the most passionate kiss of his life.

Batista gave an audible gasp as their lips met, taking a moment to adjust to the younger man's hungry kiss before responding in kind, his tongue sliding effortlessly over Randy's palate.  Eager moans escaped his throat to mingle with the heady sighs Randy gave, their lips touching again and again as each of them sought to release the unspoken arousal they had been harbouring for the past few days.  Randy's hands clawed desperately at Batista's back, the larger man's own fingers running through Randy's short hair, until they both pulled back, groaning and panting, their faces alive with shock and pleasure.

"Batista..." Randy breathed, his fingers tracing a pattern over the other man's bare skin, revelling in the supple feel of his flesh.  "Batista, I..."

"Sssh.  Don't say anything."  A radiant grin covered the older man's face, illuminating his already-flushed cheeks; it was the most genuine smile Randy had ever seen.  "I think I just got the answers I've been looking for."

"I didn't know... I just... I wasn't sure what to do..."

"Stay with me, Randy.  Stay with me tonight."  Batista took a hold of his companion's shoulder, his eyes burning with an inner fire, silencing Randy's whispers of insecurity.  "Just you and me, and all the pin falls you could ever want."

They almost made it to the bed.


	6. Dirty Moves

The sudden shift of Randy's arm brought Batista back into consciousness. It took him a moment to gather his senses, to stir himself into wakefulness; then, with delicious clarity, he realised that the arm draped across his bare chest belonged to Randy Orton, the younger man lying naked by his side. He couldn't tell how long they'd been asleep, but judging by the pale light filtering through the hotel's filmy curtains, it was still early morning.

"I wondered when you were going to wake up." Randy's soft and playful purr caused Batista to turn his head and smile at the man beside him. "I've been awake for ages, but you looked too cute there for me to disturb you."

"Cute? You think I looked cute?" Batista growled and raised his hand to his chest, closing his fingers about Randy's slimmer wrist as his grin widened. "I'll give you cute, you cheeky little son-of-a-bitch!"

"Oh yeah?" Randy tried to pull his wrist away, but Batista's firm hold proved too strong, and the younger man was left struggling as his partner tightened his grip. "Hey! No fair!"

"You started this feud, Orton! now back down or I'm going to have to kick your ass!"

"We're in bed now, not at ringside!" Randy protested, although he made no further moves to break away from Batista's hold. He quite enjoyed the horseplay, but that didn't mean he had to stay quiet; besides, he liked being in the older man's grip. It was strangely comforting, even if his terrible wrestling puns were enough to make him wince.

"I don't care where we are, runt. This is a hardcore match, and I'm the reigning champion."

* * *

"You want coffee?" Some time later, Randy had risen from the bed and wrapped himself loosely in one of thehotel bathrobes; heturned back to his partner, holding up the cafetiere in one hand and asmall china mugin the other. "I'm gonna get myself a cup."

"Sure, I'd love one. Didn't get much sleep last night." Batista grinned and propped himself up amongst the pillows, letting out a contented sigh. His first night with Randy Orton had been far better than he could have hoped for; the younger man had proven himself to be virile and energetic, more than willing to respond to Batista's affections. In fact, they'd had to be careful not to leave any tell-tale bruises and marks anywhere visible, but that in itself had been a pleasurable game.

After a few minutes, Randy strode back towards the bed with a steaming cup of coffee in each hand, and handed one to Dave; the other, he placed down on the bedside table before climbing in alongside the bigger man, cuddling up to him and allowing him to slide a muscled arm about his own broad shoulders.

"I'm sorry I took so long." Randy stared down at his cup, watching the hot liquid swirl about in slow circles. "I was just scared. I just didn't know how I felt about you, didn't know what to do…"

"I already said it's okay." Batista patted Randy on the shoulder, a gentle gesture intended to reassure the younger man. "I didn't want to scare you, rookie. You don't have anything to apologise for."

"I just feel like we've already lost so much time." The smaller man sighed and swigged from his mug, the hot taste of espresso invigorating him. "I want to make up for it! I know I can make up for it. I'll make it up to you, I swear!" Grinning, Randy drained his cup and slammed it down onto the beside table before diving back under the bedcovers.

* * *

"Where the hell _are_ those two?" Meanwhile, in the hotel's restaurant area, Triple H and Ric Flairhad already started breakfast and were tuckinginto generous plates of toast. "I told them to be down here by nine, so we could get an early start. I've got a whole list of moves we need to talk through before we leave!"

"They'll come, Trips. They'll come." Ric Flair slurped from a cup of tea and nodded, as if adding weight to his words of wisdom. "Randy's good, and Batista's going to go a long way with us. You need to have a little more faith in your team-mates."

Triple Hreplied with a displeased gruntand glared at his watch.

* * *

"God, Randy! That was… _damn!_ That was _fantastic!_" Batista gasped breathlessly, his shaking fingers running through his partner's short hair. "If onlywe could start every day like this…"

"So why don't we?" Randy smirked and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "We've got another night booked here, right? We can share a room again, can't we? I mean, sure, we've got separate rooms booked, but nobody else has to know that we're only using the one bed..."

"Too much talk, runt, and not enough action." The bigger man silenced his partner's excited ramblingswith apassionate kiss,and reached a large hand down between Randy's legs.

* * *

Triple H's coffee had long gone cold, and he left the cup on the table along with the remains of his breakfast. Despite Ric Flair's reassuring words and constant guarantees that Batista and Orton wouldn't let them down, Triple H was tired of waiting. He'd head on upstairs and find Orton and Batista himself.

* * *

"Oh God..." Randy Orton lay back amongst the pillows, his chest rising and falling, betraying the ragged cadence of his breaths. Batista had crawled back up the bed to cradle his partner in his arms, a satisfied grin on his face; he, too, had discovered the pleasures of giving.

"You okay, runt?" he smirked, stroking at the younger man's hair. "You sounded a bit excited there."

"Shut it, Dave! You're starting to sound as arrogant as Triple H!"

"Shit!" Batista pulled away abruptly, a frown creasing his brow. "Shit, I knew there was somewhere I was supposed to be this morning! I said we'd meet Trips and Flair for breakfast. Shit… they're going to kill us for this. I'm going to take a shower - don't get into any trouble, okay?"

Scowling, Batista swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed his towel, getting to his feet and heading for the bathroom.

* * *

"Batista! Batista, are you there? I need to talk to you." Triple H knocked at Batista's hotel room then stood back and glared at the closed door; for a few long moments, he waited. Then, just as he was preparing to knock again, the door was opened by a dripping Batista, a towel wrapped about his large waist.

"Triple H? What is it?" The big man hadn't expected a personal call to his room, least of all from Triple H, even if he had missed breakfast with his team-mate. "I'll be downstairs in a few minutes, just give me some time to get dressed..."

"Batista." Triple H paused for a moment, as if unsure whether to invade Batista's privacy whilst the man was clad only in a bath-towel; but anger seemed to over-ride logic, and Triple H barged his way into Batista's room, slamming the door shut behind him, staringhis team-matein the face. At first, Batista tensed with panic, convinced that Triple H would see Randy lying naked in his bed; even Trips would be able to put two and two together on _that_ one. To his surprise, though, as he cast a nervous glance towards his tousled sheets, he noticed that his bed was now empty. Where had Randy gone?

"Batista," Triple H continued, taking another step forward, forcing Batista to shuffle backwards and turn his attention back to The Game. "Batista - I'm disappointed in you, big man. I asked a simple thing of you, and you couldn't do it."

Was Triple H still talking about breakfast? The way he was phrasing it, he was making it sound like Batista had been asked to carry out a bank heist.

"Hey, calm down, alright?" The leviathan couldn't hide his irritation at being chastised. "I overslept. I'm sorry."

"And Randy?"

"He overslept too?" Batista raised an eyebrow in an attempt to fake surprise, hoping that his act would be enough to fool Triple H. "I doubt that very much. He probably found some girl last night and took her back to his room-"

"That's enough." Triple H seemed to acceptthe other man'shurried explanation, holding up a hand to halt his speech. "Wherever he is, I want the two of you downstairs in ten, is that clear? I can't be bothered to walk all the way down to his room as well. Call him or something, we don't have all day."

"Okay, okay, I'll call him." Batista's nerves were really starting to wear thin now. Not only had Randy Orton completely vanished from sight, but Triple H had barged in and was acting like he owned the place, expectingBatista and Orton to obey his every whim. "Now, can I get on with my shower, please? I can't exactly walk around the hotel looking like this."

Triple H glared at Batista for a few moments more, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring; the larger man's bulging muscles and imposing appearance obviously deterred The Game from making any more arguments, however, for he turned on his heel and stalked off, letting the door slam shut behind him. Shaking his head in disbelief, Batista headed back into the bathroom and pulled aside the shower curtain-

"Do you think Flair made him sleep on the couch last night? Is that why he's so mad?" Randy snickered, leaning against the tiled wall. So that's where he'd been hiding, with only a flannel for modesty! "Let the towel drop, Dave, or we'll be here all day."

* * *

"I already told you, Batista, Evolution is a team, and if we're going to stay as a team, that means doing things together! How are Ric and I supposed to talk to you about our tactics if you're never around to talk to?" By now, a freshly-showered Batista and Randy had joined Triple H in the hotel lobby, sipping complimentary cups of coffee and steeling themselves for the stern reprimand which they had come to expect from The Game.

"Something came up." Batista gave a sly smirk as Randy almost spat out his coffee. "I know we're supposed to be working hard at Evolution, Trips, but there are other important things in life as well as wrestling."

"Go on, Batista. Impress me." Triple H sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his broad chest. "Tell me exactly what it was that kept you so enthralled."

"Fine." Batista shrugged and leaned forward towards his team-mate. "Since you seem to be so interested in my personal life, I'll tell you. How much detail would you like me to go into?"  
"As much as you want, Dave. I've got all morning."

"Alright then, it's like this; the thing is, Triple H, I've met someone. Someone who means a lot to me." Batista gave The Game a moment to let the words sink in. "I haven't ever met anyone who's made me feel like this before, and… well… it feels good."

With a sidelong glance at Randy, Batista noticed – with great satisfaction – that his partner was practically glowing with pride, not to mention he looked like he was stifling a giggling fit. He wouldn't say anything about their new relationship, though, not yet. It was far too soon; as Batista had recently warned Randy, Triple H could be highly volatile when it came to jealousy and attention-seeking.

"It feels good." Triple H nodded and gave an irritable snort, clearly not happy with Batista's explanation. "It feels good. Right. So good – _so damn good_ – that you can't even be bothered to make an effort for the team anymore."

"C'mon, now, Trips!" To Batista's surprise, it was Randy who chipped in. "That's not what he's saying! He's just trying to say he's pleased, that's all! Is that such a bad thing? I don't think there's anything wrong with being happy for one of your tag partners when they say they've found someone special."

"Randy's right." Batista was quick to agree. "I'm sorry if I've let things slide for a few days, but I promise you I haven't forgotten what being a member of Evolution means. I'm not going to let this relationship affect my performance, Trips – in fact, if anything, I think it's going to make me even stronger than before."

Again, he glanced at Randy; the younger man was staring at Batista with a look of absolute adulation. It was a wonder that Triple H hadn't worked things out already. He was so wrapped up in his own pride and sense of self-worth that he failed to see the subtle hints that flowed between his team-mates.

"That's great, right?" Randy piped up again. "It's great that Evolution's going to be even better than before, right, Triple H?"

"I suppose." Triple H responded with a reluctant grunt, his gaze still fixed upon Batista as he rose from his chair. He couldn't haveseemed more hostile if he'd tried. "Just don't forget where your loyalties lie Batista. Don't you ever forget."

As The Game stormed away from their table, there was little left for Randy and Batista to do but shrug.

(It's occurred to me that Evolution seem to drink a lot of coffee in this fic... ah well! We all know fanfic readers and writers are often caffeine-powered:) Randy's secret online activity hasn't been forgotten, either, but Batista is a little too distracted for it to concern him right now. Also, I've just moved house and haven't been able to get online for two weeks, so I hope this extra-large chapter makes up for it.)


	7. Shuffle Side Kick

"I don't like it, Ric. I don't like it at all." Triple H had been in a foul mood ever since Batista's news that he had found a lover. "It'll weaken him, just you wait and see. He'll get distracted and forget his goal – _Evolution's_ goal – and all he'll care about is his happy little lovey-dovey relationship with whoever this peaches-and-cream beauty turns out to be."

"You're coming down too hard on the boy." Ric Flair was rarely critical of Triple H, but he felt that he needed to be stern in this instance. "Besides, it doesn't hurt if he decides to have a little fun. I mean, c'mon, what about that time when you and Stephanie McMahon..."

"I told you to _never_ mention that, Ric." Triple H fixed his teammate with a stern glare. "Never, ever again."

"Suit yourself." Ric Flair shrugged. The exact details of what had happened between Triple H and Vince McMahon's daughter were none of his concern, and it was clear that his teammate didn't want to discuss the issue any further. "The point I'm trying to make here is that it's perfectly natural for Batista to have found someone he likes. I mean, let's face it, he's a popular man. Someone that well-cut is bound to find favours with the ladies. He's young, and fit, and...well, good-looking, really."

"He is that, I suppose." Triple H nodded, stroking at his own stubble. "So what are you saying we should do?"

"What it comes down to, Trips,is this; we stick by him, we back him up, and when the inevitable break-up comes we make him stay on track. Until then, we just have to wait for the romantic magic to fade."

"That may be so, Ric, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

* * *

It had been a week now since Batista and Randy had declared their physical attraction for each other; so far, their relationship had remained a secret to all but themselves, but not for lack of trying. During training sessions, they had barely been able to keep their eyes from each other, and when they ran through their moves, there was often more than one hand in an inappropriate place. Batista couldn't tell if Randy had noticed or not, but they weren't the only two wrestlers to have been acting strangely. Triple H had been more sullen than ever before, casting disapproving glances at Batista whenever he had the chance. No doubt The Game was getting paranoid about Batista's hormones spoiling Evolution's chances of ruling the WWE. 

The besotted couple had other things on their minds this morning, however. As usual, Randy had been the first to wake, and had eased Batista into consciousness with gentle kisses and caresses which had led deliciously onto other pleasures. The two of them now lay sated on top of theknotted sheets and scattered pillows, their arms firmly entwined about each other, their chests rising and falling in the struggle to regain their breath.

"One of these days," Batista grinned, his eye burning with desire, "I'm going to have to learn to say 'no', just so I can see the look on your face."

"You wouldn't _dare_!" Randy snickered, grabbing a pillow and batting him playfully on the arm. "In that case, maybe _I'll_ learn to sleep in late, just to spite you!"

"Impudent little upstart!" the bigger man growled, giving a snarl and preparing to pin his partner down amongst the cushions. "You could _never _have that much patience!" His hands groped at the younger man's flesh, pulling and tugging at him, the two of them wrestling and tussling in a play-fight which would no doubt evolve into another expression of fiery passion-

Just then, the phone rang.

"Damn it!" Batista growled, pulling away so that Randy could answer. It was Orton's room, after all, and there would be questions as to what Dave Batista would be doing in Randy's room at seven in the morning. "Make it a quick call, rookie..."

"_Now _who's the impatient one?" Randy snickered, wriggling out of his lover's grasp and grabbing at the receiver. He thrust it to his ear and tried hard to ignore the fact that Batista's hand was snaking up his leg. "Hello? Hi? Yeah, this is Randy Orton. Mr Orton, yeah. What? It's here? No way! that's - that's awesome! No, no that's cool, I'll come down and get it as soon as I'm dressed. Say, in about... an hour or so? Sure. Thanks. Bye."

"Who was that?"

"Oh, it's... uh... wait and see, okay? I promise it'll be good!"

"No, Randy. I want to know." Batista's tone was sterner now. His younger partner had secrets, he knew, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take, no matter how well-matched they seemed to be. "You still haven't cleared that whole Internet thing up, for a start. Look, I _really_ care about you, and I _want _to trust you, but if you keep things from me, I'm going to find it difficult."

"Fine, if that's the way you want things to be." Randy's shoulders drooped, and he sat up stiffly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "But... can't we... can't we unwind first? Please?"

"No, Randy." The older man found that his lust diminished when faced with betrayal. "I want to know what's going on. I want to know _now_."

"Okay, alright, I get the idea!" Randy scowled and rose to his feet, not even grabbing a pillow out of modesty. "But I still get the first shower." And before Batista could argue, he'd darted into the bathroom and locked the door, leaving Batista to watch the drudgery of early morning TV all alone.

* * *

"You did this for _me_?" Batista felt guilt wash over him. The two of them had dressed in a heavy, sullen silence and headed straight down to reception area, where there had been a parcel waiting for Randy; that was why he'd received the phone call. The younger man had refused to answer any of his partner's questions, insisting that the answer would be downstairs - and just when Batista had thought he'd had enough, just when he'd been ready to yell at Randy for being so annoyingly secretive and wanted to storm out of the hotel in a rage, Randy had picked up the package, passed it to Batista, flushed a deep scarlet and mumbled so quietly that he'd had to ask him to repeat himself. 

"You take it, Batista. It's for you."

All this time he had suspected Randy of being unfaithful to him online, when all along the younger man had been going out of his way to get a present for his older lover. Come to think of it, when Randy had first thought of purchasing the gift , he hadn't even openly declared his affection for Batista. And all those times he'd seen Randy checking something online in various hotels and Internet cafes, he'd just been keeping an eye on the parcel's progress and making sure it would be delivered to the right hotel at the right time.

"Go on, open it!" Randy muttered as Batista took the parcel, a bemused look on his face. The two of them moved to the reception area, Randy flushing with pleasure now that his lover seemed to accept the gift. "Please, just _open_ it!"

"Calm down, rookie." Batista couldn't stop grinning either, flattered that Randy had gone out of his way to please him. "Should I even _ask_ how much it cost?"

"Just open the damn thing!" Randy hissed, playfully cuffing Batista about the ear. The bigger man took the abuse in good humour, laughing back at his partner; he was well aware that he was taunting Randy, and he loved every second of it.

Carefully, Batista pulled out his penknife and slit the heavy masking tape which held the box shut, tearing away the packing tape and pulling back the box flaps to reveal a mass of bubble wrap and polystyrene pieces. Intrigued, he dug into the protective packaging and closed a large hand about a handle, pulling the strange bundle from the box to reveal-

"A lunchbox?" Batista gasped in surprise. "You got me a _lunchbox_?"

"You said… you said you collected them or something…" Randy muttered bashfully. "You mentioned it a while back when we were talking about stuff… you _do _still collect them right?"

"Do I _collect_ them?" Batista laughed, suddenly launching himself at Randy and capturing him in a loving embrace. "Randy – I've been looking for this one for _months_! How did you know? How did you know I wanted this one?"

"I guess I pay more attention to you than you realise, sometimes," Randy mumbled, although he was still able to grin as he struggling to breathe.

* * *

"Nice legwork, Batista, but we need to work on the grapple." Triple H flexed his muscles a few more times and launched himself again at Batista, his eyes fixed on the larger man's firmly-muscled arms. This afternoon's training session was turning out to be even more promising than he could have imagined. Overall, Triple H had been very pleased with the way Batista had integrated himself into Evolution; true to his word, the brute hadn't let his newfound romantic interest spoil his wrestling talent. In fact, he'd been more punctual than ever when it came to turning up for practice, and he'd thrown himself into his training with gusto. Randy, too, seemed to be blossoming for whatever reason; perhaps he was finding out how good it could be to be a part of Evolution. After all, who wouldn't jump at the chance to train and to learn with The Game? 

"That's better, Batista – less push, more shove. That's good." The two wrestlers disengaged and stood apart from each other, Batista wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. Triple H worked him hard but it was worth it. "You want to go over The Pedigree again?"

"No thanks, I'm good for today." The larger man grunted in acknowledgement and strolled over to a bench, grabbing a towel and rubbing himself down with it. "I think we've covered most of the big ones this afternoon, and I reckon I'm getting the hang of the clotheslines. Same time tomorrow, or are you busy?"

"We're finishing already?" Triple H seemed disappointed that Batista wanted to end the day's training so soon. He pouted, causing his hairy brow to crease into a frown.

"Yeah. Got a date with my little lady." Batista allowed himself a smirk. He wondered what Randy would say if he knew his lover were talking about him like this, referring to him as if he were some big-eyed teenage girl! "You know how it is, Hunter. You have to keep them happy, or they get all pouty and start to sulk." Much like Triple H was doing now, he thought.

"Damn!" Triple H fairly pounded his hand against the wall in obvious irritation, then heaved a heavy sigh of resignation. Clearly, he'd have been happy to spend the whole night in training, honing Batista's potential skill into a wrestling talent to match his own high standards. "Well... okay, you can do that, I guess. But don't get carried away, y'hear? I want you in good shape tomorrow. Ric wants us to go over some difficult finishers, and I wouldn't want you to pull a muscle or anything."

Batista noticed then that Triple H had fixed him with a firm glare, almost like a father would stare disapprovingly at a wayward son. He felt uncomfortable; he and Hunter were practically the same age, for God's sake! Just because The Game had made more of a name for himself within the WWE didn't give him any right to issue Batista with some kind of curfew! Before he knew it, he'd be dragging Ric Flair along as a chaperone!

"I'll be fine, Hunter." Even though he could feel irritation rising within him, Batista managed to keep his temper. He squared his shoulders and slung his towel over his arm, deliberately breaking his gaze away from Triple H's stern face. "I'll be here tomorrow, just like we agreed. Get some rest."

Whatever was eating at Triple H., there was no need for him to take it out on his teammates. Shrugging, Batista headed for his hotel room and a shower; he had more important things to worry about than Hunter's bad moods, least of all which shirt he'd wear for his dinner datewith Randy Orton.


	8. Chop Battle

Batista had deliberated for some time over what to wear, but in the end he'd opted for sleek black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, leaving the top two buttons open to reveal a glimpse of his tanned chest. He'd also applied a small amount of aftershave following his shower, eliminating any last traces of his workout with Triple H; it certainly wasn't sexy to show up for dinner reeking of sweaty towels and changing rooms. Suitably scented and psychologically armed, he set out for what he hoped would be an exhilarating evening.

* * *

The restaurant was nearly full by the time Batista arrived. Randy Orton, in an impressive moment of impulsive organisation, had booked a dinner date for the two of them to celebrate their one-week anniversary – and, since he'd offered to foot the bill for the two of them, his larger partner had seen no need to argue. It made a welcome change from burger joints and cheap cafes, at least.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked a well-groomed waitress as he approached the waiting area. "Table for one?"

"Actually, I'm here to meet someone. Is there a Mister Orton here yet?"

"Let me just check for you." She stepped aside for a moment and scanned down a list of diners, nodding as she found what she'd been looking for. "Yes, sir, table seventy-three. Please follow me."

With effortless grace, the waitresspicked up a menu with delicate fingersand swirled off into the main dining area, leading Batista through an alcove and past high windows bedecked with lavish drapes. They strolled through row after row of immaculately clean tables - each and every one of them was adorned with a single flower in a small white vase, and many of them had 'Reserved' tags. He had to admit, he was impressed. This looked like a pretty exclusive place.

As they rounded a large column, it was easy for Batista to spot Randy; the younger man was sitting alone on a small table, toying idly with the menu and self-consciously adjusting the collar of his blue shirt. Then – and this was when Batista had to stifle a laugh – Randy held up a spoon and carefully inspected his reflection in its polished surface. He frowned briefly and cocked his head to one side, just as the waitress led his partner over to the table and pulled aside a chair.

"Thank you, Ma'am," Batista nodded, dismissing her with a smile. He glanced at Randy, who had hurriedly returned the spoon to its place on the tablecloth and was now blushing a fetching scarlet.

"B-Batista!" Randy stammered, clearly feeling nervous. He obviously wasn't used to these kinds of eateries, but his older companion doubted that was the only reason for his nerves; so far, they had kept their romantic liaisons relatively quiet, but this was the first time they had met up privately in so public a setting. After all, what made more of a public statement than a romantic dinner for two? "Batista! You came!"

"Of course I came, runt! Why wouldn't I when you promised me such a good meal?" The bigger man grinned and reached over to pat his lover on the arm. "C'mon, relax. It's not like Triple H is watching us or anything. It's good to see you. Did you have trouble getting here?"  
"Nah, no problems at all. I just took a taxi." Already, Randy was relaxing in his partner's company. Batista's voice always seemed to have a soothing effect on him. "How was your training session?"  
"It was good. I didn't pull anything, and I reckon I'm getting a hang of some of those tricky kicks. Maybe we can run over some tomorrow?"

"Maybe we can run over some tonight?" Randy snickered conspiratorially.

"Oh, no. Tonight, I think we should definitely work on the tag moves."

"Damn! And I wanted to go over the choke holds with you later!"

"If you're lucky, rookie. If you're lucky."

Before long, their verbal exchange had devolved into a series of double entendres and dodgy in-jokes; they barely even noticed as the waitress returned and took their orders, and they giggled all the way through their entree salads and bread rolls. It didn't matter that they were in one of the most expensive restaurants in town - for all of their sniggering and laughter, they sounded like a pair of teenagers on a date in Starbuck's.

* * *

"Is this a private party or can anyone join in?" The conversation was suddenly interrupted by a smug growl; there was no mistaking that self-satisfied smirk, that grinning face framed by unkempt blonde hair. Edge. "Seriously, guys. Does Triple H know you're out on your own?"

"Go away, Edge," Batista growled in return, not wanting his meal to be spoiled by this rebellious upstart. He always reminded Batista of a frustrated puppy, or a wolf cub in heat. "We're trying to enjoy our dinner here, and I don't want to find hairs in my food."

"Oooh! Cutting! You could be disqualified for using such razor-sharp wit!" Edge was well aware that he wasn't welcome at the table, but he pulled up a chair regardless, and sat down beside Randy and Batista. They tried to ignore him for a few moments, hoping he'd go away, but his naturally confrontational attitude made it very difficult.

"Please, Edge. This doesn't concern you." Randy placed his fork to one side and wiped at his mouth with a napkin.

"Oh? Doesn't it? It concerns me when I find little boys out past their bedtime." Edge snarkily patted Randy on the head and flashed him a patronising smile. "Is Batista having fun babysitting you or are you too much of a cry-baby?"

"That's _enough_, Edge." Batista's cutlery clattered down onto the side of his plate. "If you just came over here to insult us, you can go right back to wherever you came from. Maybe it makes _you _laugh inside your pathetic little mind, but _I _don't think it's very funny. Now, either you can go away and leave us alone, or I can call the management over and ask you to leave. Which is it going to be?"

"Okay, okay, I get the idea! Geez!" The long-haired wrestler held out his palms in a gesture of resignation. "I can't help it if you're both so sensitive!" This comment was met with glares from both Randy and Batista. "Alright, look. I came over here to find out what you guys are all about tonight. I don't normally see you without Old Man Ric and Triple Cake…"

"Triple what?"

"Triple Cake. Never mind, it's some joke I had with Christian once because the big guy eats so much junk. Anyway, I only ever see you when you're with the rest of Evolution, so what's the deal? Are you planning something?"

"Even if we were, why should we tell _you,_ dog-breath?" Randy set his jaw firmly and stared at the other wrestler. "See? You're not the only one who can come out with names."

"I weep for your creativity, jock-boy. God, you're such a fucking n00b."

Batista was exuding an outer aura of calm, but inside, he was seething. Edge had no right to come over and act like such a childish moron, no matter what he thought of the rest of Evolution. Admittedly, his nicknames for Triple H and Ric had been vaguely entertaining, but that still didn't excuse his attitude towards him and Randy Orton. Not only that, but Batista couldn't help but feel protective towards his younger lover, and it riled him to have someone like Edge badmouthing him to his face.

"There's nothing going on here, Edge." He was having trouble keeping his voice level now; anger was causing him to physically shake. Not only that, the awful realisation had just hit him that if Triple H found out who he was with tonight, there would be a lot of awkward questions to ask. "We're just taking a break, that's all. It gets pretty intense when you have four people training together all the time. We all need to unwind separately."

"With a romantic dinner for two?"

Batista almost winced. Trust Edge to have things worked out so easily, just like that. Triple H was so sure of himself, so certain of his ego, that he rarely saw past the end of his own nose. Edge, however, seemed to make a career out of poking his canine snout wherever it didn't belong, and this time he was sniffing a little too close to the mark.

"You can call it that if you want." It was Randy who piped up next, causing Batista's eyes to widen in alarm. "In fact, sure, why not? Me and Dave here have already polished off a plate of oysters to get the libido going, if you know what I mean. Then we're gonna have some chocolate for dessert, it's supposed to be another aphrodisiac – you _do_ know what an aphrodisiac is, don't you? Or have you never got laid?"

"Shut it, you little prick!"

"Okay, I'll take that as a 'not recently'. Anyway, after we're done with the dessert, we're gonna head on back to Dave's hotel room, and strip totally naked, and have hot, passionate monkey sex _all night _until…"

"That's _enough_!" Edge snarled, pushing his chair back with so much force that the whole thing toppled over. "You guys are sick! Just totally _sick_! Whatever it is you've got going on, you can do it in private!" Pouting, his lips twitching, Edge stalked back across the restaurant to rejoin whoever it was he'd been sitting with.

"When you see me walking like John Wayne tomorrow, you'll know why!" Randy called after him. Then he sat back and giggled quietly, evidently pleased with himself.

"How the hell…?" Batista stammered, his jaw dropping.

"How did I figure put to put him off? Easy. Sometimes, you can shove the truth right in front of people, but they still don't want to believe it. I wouldn't be surprised if even now, Edge is trying to listen in on our supposed secret plot against Ric and Triple H."

"But supposing he _had_ believed us, Randy? We should be more careful." Batista was smiling, though. He'd been just as amused by Randy's tale-telling as the younger man had been. He'd thought the younger man incapable of such subtle thinking, but Randy could still surprise him. "He may still go to Triple H and tell him that anyway."

"If he does… we'll think of something." The younger man shrugged his broad shoulders and resumed eating. "Besides, the others are bound to find out sooner or later. Maybe it won't be pretty, but they're going to know eventually… so we'd better be prepared for when they do."

Batista had to admit that Randy was right. He'd been putting off telling Triple H because he feared how Hunter would react, but Randy had a point; if they were the ones to tell The Game what was going on between them, it would save the potential awkwardness of him finding out from someone else. And if Batista wanted the relationship to last – which, without a doubt, he knew he did – they'd have to go public sometime. He just wished that 'public' didn't have to include a sullen, bulky teammate with an ego the size of Australia.


	9. Choke

Triple H flexed his muscles and stared at himself in the mirror, flicking loose strands of hair from his eyes and striking a pose. He pouted experimentally, liking the way his stern countenance changed into something rather more coy and subtle. Maybe after this he'd try a different shirt on, the new burgundy one he'd bought at the local mall earlier. Just as he strode to the wardrobe, however, his steps were halted by a knock on the hotel room door. Sighing, he changed direction and went over, peering through the spyhole out of sheer curiosity.

Just his luck. It was Edge, and he looked rather nervous. What did the little squirt want this time?

"Hunter!" the hairy wrestler stammered as the door was suddenly wrenched open, much to his evident surprise. "Hunter, listen up. I've got some news you really won't want to miss. See, I was just out in town for a meal, hanging out with some good friends of mine,and you wouldn't guess who I saw there…"

"Hey, calm down." Triple H held up his hands, palms out, in an attempt to slow Edge's speech down. There was no love lost between the two wrestlers here; Edge wasn't exactly the best when it came to making friends, and The Game's egotistical and confrontational attitude made it difficult for him to get along with many of his colleagues. Still, if Edge had important news – and Triple H reckoned it had to be of some serious import if the hirsute man had dared to come and see him like this – then he would at least humour the excited little puppy and hear him out. "Alright, Edge. Breathe, will you? What the hell is going on?"

"Okay, okay!" Edge dragged his fingers through his unruly hair,took a moment to compose himself, and worked on regaining his breath. "The thing is… it's _Batista_, Triple H. Batista's up to something."

"Oh?" The Game raised an eyebrow in interest. This wasn't exactly breaking news to him, but he kept listening anyway. It was always possible he could learn something new.

"I saw him in the restaurant, Hunter. He was there with Randy…"  
"Randy? Randy Orton?" Now, this was something he hadn't heard before. For all of Batista's claims that his recent lapses were due to a romantic liaison, Triple H had long suspected that his teammate was planning something far more treacherous. Perhaps he'd been lying about being in a relationship; maybe his sole reason for joining Evolution had been to corrupt young Randy, to turn the younger wrestler against him. "What the hell was Batista doing going for dinner with Randy Orton?"

"You tell _me_, Trips. That's why I thought I should let you know. Just doing my bit for Evolution, right?"

Triple H had to grin at that. It was so pathetic, it was almost cute; Edge had come to tell tales about Batista and Randy because he thought he could buy himself some protection from The Game. He kept on staring at Triple H expectantly, waiting for The Game to say something, probably hoping for some kind of fat reward. He could have stared all night for all Triple H cared, and the bigger man kept Edge waiting until he finally delivered some kind of answer.

"Alright, Edge,"he smirked. "Thanks for the tip-off."

"So... we're cool?"

"We're _cool_? What do you mean, we're cool?"

"I mean, uh... I guess what I mean... is.. um... if ever we get into a fight, you'll go easy on me, right?"

"Maybe, Edge." Hunter chuckled and patted the smaller wrestler on the shoulder, a patronising gesture which may or may not have held any real meaning. "Maybe."

"But…"

"But _nothing_, Edge. Goodnight." With an arrogant smirk, Triple H slammed the door in his face.

* * *

Despite Edge's rude interruption, Batista and Randy were able to brush aside the canine wrestler's comments and enjoy the rest of their meal in peace. As promised, Randy footed the bill and left a generous tip, and the two of them left the restaurant in high spirits, Randy giggling as Batista entertained him with stories of his early training. It was so easy to feel relaxed in the older man's company, and he was sure it wasn't just the wine that was making him feel light-headed. They walked at a leisurely pace through the gathering night, reaching the square in front of the hotel just as the sun began to set, and Batista led the two of them over to the large fountain in the centre of the plaza. There was a large pool surrounding the elegant water feature, and he sat himself down at the water's edge, inviting his partner to join him.

"Come here, Randy. I want to thank you for a wonderful evening." The larger man smiled and patted the lip of the pool, his grin widening further as Randy took a seat beside him. "I'm so proud of you, rookie - booking that table, covering the bill, even standing up to Edge like that. I thought _I_ was supposed to be the one looking after _you_?"

"I guess it works both ways," Randy smirked, his cheeks flushing. Gingerly, he reached out a hand and place his fingers over Batista's, squeezing them gently. "I still don't get where Edge is coming from, though. What do you think he was trying to do?" Randy's brow creased into a frown. Even though he'd dealt admirably with Edge's crude interruptions, he was still puzzled as to why the hairy man would act in such a way.

"I don't know, Randy," Batista answered. "I guess he thinks he can buy himself some protection by getting in withEvolution or something."

"But he doesn't even _like_ Triple H!"

"And you think a small detail like _that_ would stop him from sucking up to Hunter? No chance." Batista allowed himself a sly chuckle. "Edge would sell his own grandmother if he thought it would get him a title shot."

Both of them had to laugh at that. Hell, Randy felt like laughing out loud at just about everything right now; life felt so good, so _perfect_, just sitting here in the twilight with his lover at his side. What more could he ask for? Even the World HeavyweightBelt dwindled into insignificance when compared to a romantic evening with Dave Batista. He glanced sidelong at the older man, savouring his every feature, reaching out his free hand to stroke at the miniscule goatee on his partner's chin.

"So, big guy... are you gonna kiss me or what?"

What else could Batista do but comply?

* * *

A short distance away, safely hidden by a row of shrubs and a carved stone bench, Triple H and Edge were settled down amongst the foliage, eagerly spying on Randy and Batista. After he'd been ejected from Triple H's hotel room, Edge had sulked for a while and decided to go for a walk in the plaza where the hotel was situated - and on his travels, he'd been lucky enough to spot the two members of Evolution returning from their evening meal, laughing and joking as if they'd known each other for years. He'd wasted no time in hurrying along and grabbing The Game, determined to prove his worth to the big man. 

Hunter had been reluctant at first - his favourite soap had been on the television at the time - but Edge had insisted it would be a fruitful expedition.He'd brought along a pair of binoculars – in case of any sneaky photographers, he had claimed, although Hunter suspected it was more to do with the fact that Edge could see Stacy Kiebler's hotel room from his window. Anyway, they had already come in handy, and right now Edge was squinting through the lenses at the happy couple cuddled up by the fountain.

"Can you see anything?" Triple H growled, shifting uncomfortably and nudging his companion in the ribs for the seventh time. "They've been sitting there for at least five minutes now. Can't you lip read or something? What are they saying?"

"_Shut_ it, Trips! They'll hear us for sure if you don't bite your tongue!" Edge hissed and lowered the binoculars, narrowing his eyes and glaring at The Game. "And no, of _course_ I can't hear what they're saying! If you wanted sensitive listening equipment, you should have called the FBI!"

Triple H said nothing in response, but merely snorted irritably and squinted into the semi-darkness, suitably chagrined. Unlike Edge, he wasn't used to stealth and guile; he preferred the straightforward approach to things, relying on sheer strength and power to get his way. If the decision had been left to him, he would have charged right along to Batista's room and demanded to hear the truth. That way, he wouldn't have been stuck in a herbaceous border for half the night. It was going to take _hours_ to pick off all the bits of mulch which were sticking to his shirt.

"Oooh! Wait, I think I see something!" Edge grinned and patted Triple H on the shoulder. "Their hands just touched… maybeRandy is trying to pass Batistaa secret message! They're smiling – they've got a secret they're not sharing…"

"Give me those." The Game pouted and snatched the binoculars from Edge's hands. He hated to think he was missing something. Pouting sullenly, he raised them to his eyes and fixed his vision on Randy Orton, trying to work out whether the younger wrestler was being swayed by any of Batista's words and reaching a negative conclusion. Suitably unimpressed, he passed the binoculars back to his companion with a dangerous growl. "You're full of bullshit, Edge. If I don't see anything interesting in the next five minutes, I'm going back inside."

"Suit yourself, but I _swear_ they're up to something." Edge stared again at Randy and Batista, heaving a weary sigh. He'd hoped to get in with Triple H this evening, but so far all he'd done was antagonise the big man. All his plans to get on the good side of Evolution and guarantee himself some protection would come crashing down around his ears. Just then, however - just as he was starting to despair of uncovering any great wrestling conspiracy - Edge's jaw slackened in an amazed 'O' of surprise.

"Hunter – _Hunter_!"He spluttered, practically choking on his words. "You've _got_ to see this, Hunter!"

"_What_?" Triple H was in a thoroughly foul mood now. His arms were numb, and he'd just knelt on a stone, not to mention that he had a large twig jabbing at his backside. "This had better be good, Fido."

"Randy and Batista!" Edge squeaked. "They're... they're…"

"They're _what_, Edge? Selling secrets to the Russians?"

"It's much worse than that, Trips!" he stammered, waving a finger towards The Game's lovestruck teammates. "They're… they're _kissing_!"


	10. Angry Stomp

"What in the _hell_?" This time, when Triple H seized the binoculars from Edge, his movements were so forceful they sent the other wrestler sprawling face-first into the shrubbery. "What the fuck? _What the fuck?_ What the shit is this? _What the hell is going on_?"

There was no more time to lose. With a look of thunder, The Game cast the binoculars aside and burst forth from the bushes, screaming blue murder at Randy and Batista where they sat at the edge of the fountain. He charged at the cuddling couple, leaf-mulch and wood chippings shedding from his shirt as he marched over, giving him the appearance of some kind of swamp monster. His face was twisted into a look of absolute rage, and his clenched fists left his teammates in no doubt as to his terrible mood.

"Batista!" he yelled, his face turning a fetching shade of bright crimson. "Batista, you no-good,cradle-snatching piece of _crap_! Come _here, _Batista, I want to have a word with you!"

"_Holy crap_!" Randy squeaked, the two lovers springing apart with surprising speed at Hunter's approach. Even though Batista had quickly stepped in front of his partnerto protect him from Triple H's onslaught, it brought the big wrestler some comfort to realise that the smaller man was still holding tightly onto his hand. "Where did he spring from, Dave? How did he see us? I knew you said he'd get jealous when he found out but I hadn't expected _this_!"

"Just keep back, Randy," Batista growled. He was confident that he was big enough to stand up to The Game, no matter what happened, and he was prepared to take a punch if that what it came down to. Inwardly, though, he cursed himself for having brought such a situation upon Randy Orton; he should have _known_ that Triple H would react like this! He had been far too careless tonight in showing his affections in public! Well, he reflected, Randy _had_ been the one who had originally wanted The Game to know about their relationship, so at least, in a way, the smaller man had got his wish. All that was left to do now was try and placate their tempestuous teammate.

"What the_ fuck_ are you playing at, Batista?" Triple H had reached them by now, and up close, both Randy and Batista could see that their companion was visibly shaking with rage. "What kind of game is this? Are you pretending to be gay so you can get along with Rico? Are you putting on some kind of show for next month's 'Power Slam' magazine? Or are you just trying to _piss me off_?"

"Come on now, Trips," Batista began, his voice taking on a gentle tone. It would do no good to shout back at Hunter right now, or tell him he was being unreasonable. Batista already knew from experience that doing so would only fan the flames of his anger. "Trips - just listen to me a minute, okay? Listen to what I have to say."

"This had better be good, asshole!"

"Alright, I'll make it quick if you want." The leviathan sighed and ran his fingers through his short hair, wishing that his teammate would be a little more understanding sometimes. "The thing is... the thing is, Trips... the... well... uh... me and Randy, we... uh... we..."

Damn it!Batista had been going over this line in his head since the very moment he and Randy had first got together; he had thought about how to break the news to Triple H, to let him know that he and Randy were dating without making The Game lose his temper. And now that he was actually here trying to spit the words out, he couldn't do it at all. Of course, it didn't help that Triple H was already ballistic. He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself, steeled himself to utter the words, readied himself for the punch which was bound to follow the news-

"It's me and Dave, Triple H. Thing is... we're fucking."

Randy delivered the line with such effortless grace that Batista could have hugged him.

"You're _what_?" Triple H spluttered.

"We're fucking!" Randy grinned.

"_Dating_, Randy," Dave offered helpfully. "The generally accepted term is _dating_."

"But we're fucking too, right?"

"Of course we're - um - fucking. But that's not the point. The point here is..."

"What do you mean _that's not the fucking point_?" The Game exploded, practically screaming in Batista's face. "Are you trying to tell me that the two of you are a pair of fucking _queers_, and you've been at it the whole time under my nose, and you didn't tell me because you've been _laughing_ at me, and you're sleeping together to humiliate me..."

"No, Trips." Randy placed a sympathetic hand on Hunter's shoulder. "We're sleeping together because we love each other."

"You _what_?"

"We _love _each other, Trips." Batista affirmed his lover's words. "This has only be going on a week, so don't start getting paranoid and thinking we've been doing this to spite you. We wanted to get comfortable with each other first, that's all."

"Why didn't you _tell _me, Dave?" Triple H's voice sounded far less angry now. If anything, it had become a harsh whine, a plaintive whisper. It was as if he felt they had excluded him from their private club, as if he accepted their coupling but still found it hard to believe. "Why didn't you say something _sooner_?"

"We _were _going to tell you, Hunter. We were going to tell you tomorrow…"

"Why didn't you tell me last _week_?" The Game seemed genuinely hurt that his teammate had neglected to mention his blossoming relationship; that, or he still thought Batista and Randy were playing a cruel trick on him. "Just a few words, Dave! That's all it would have taken!"

"We weren't sure how you'd react." It was Randy who spoke this time. "And I'd appreciate it if you spoke to me too, Trips. There are_ two_ people in this relationship here."

"Two. Yes, of course. Just two." The Game nodded, his eyes straying from Batista to Randy, his rage dwindling to little more than a stunned gaze. "Randy and Batista... who'd have thought, huh? Randy and Batista. Randy and Batista..."

"For what it's worth, Trips - if it's the wrestling you're worried about - we haven't forgotten Evolution. Far from it." Batista now offered a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I swear, Hunter, me and Randy will always give Evolution the hard work and respect that the team deserves. You can count on it."

"Glad to hear it." Triple H still seemed rather shocked by the recent news. At least he'd calmed down, though. "Now, if you boys will excuse me, I think I'm gonna need a stiff drink... or twenty." With a curt nod, The Game turned on his heel and shuffled towards the hotel, stumbling up the steps and disappearing from sight. Randy and Batista looked at each other, shrugged, and decided to go to bed.

* * *

In the shrubbery, Edge groaned and rubbed at the growing lump on his forehead. When Triple H had lost his temper and stormed away, he'd casually thrown the binoculars down at Edge with enough strength to knock the hairy wrestler out cold. Scowling, he spat clods of earth from his lips and hauled himself upright, emerging from the bushes in a foul mood and brushing leafy detritus from his clothes. 

By now, the plaza was completely empty apart from a scattering of pigeons; Evolution must have forgotten all about him. Bastards. He'd done Triple H a favour, provided him with one of the juiciest bits of gossip he'd ever seen, and how had The Game repaid him? By sodding off with his teammates and leaving him to fester in the shrubbery. Oh, he'd get them back though, he was sure of that; Evolution would _pay _for what they'd done. They hadn't seen the last of him yet.

* * *

It was warm and cosy in Batista's room. He and Randy were cuddled up under the covers, sated and happy, their hands stroking lovingly over bare, toned skin. Triple H's violent outburst earlier had made them both feel unsettled, but their mutual affections had soothed the two of them and allowed them to release their tensions. Now, despite Batista's desire to drop off to sleep, his younger lover was talking to him enthusiastically about his plans for the next few days. 

"So, Dave, are you doing anything this weekend?"  
"I guess not, rookie," the larger man murmured sleepily, trying to bury his head in a pillow. "I was planning on catching up on reading a book or two. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know... I thought maybe it would bea good idea to get away from Trips and Flair for a few days. Y'know, give them a chance to cool down."

"Sounds like you're learning already, squirt," Batista chuckled, opening one eye lazily. "Which tropical island did you want me to whisk you away to?"

"I wouldn't go that far!" Randy snickered. "Well… since Trips knows about us now, and Flair probably knows as well, the word's bound to get out sooner or later, so I figured we should start telling people, too." He shifted rather uncomfortably, but there was still a broad grin on his face. "That's… that's why I want you to come home with me for a few days, Batista. I want you to meet my dad."


	11. Sitdown

In his day, "Cowboy" Bob Orton had been a formidable opponent, the holder of several titles and numerous television appearances; it seemed almost natural that his son, Randy, should follow in his footsteps. Batista was already aware of Bob Orton's accomplishments, and it made him nervous to even think about being in his presence, but for Randy, he'd do anything. He was thankful for one thing, though; despite being the older man in their relationship, he was closer in age to Randy than to his father, and that was some small relief. If Bob Orton latched onto his age and started talking about the good ol' seventies, he would feel like crawling under the nearest stone to die.

"Is my shirt straight?" he hissed sidelong to Randy, making desperate last-minute adjustments to his outfit. Despite his partner's assurances that the Orton family would welcome him in, he'd wanted to make sure he looked just right for the occasion.

"You look _fine,_ Dave! Stop worrying!" The younger wrestler smiled and led him eagerly towards the front door of his family home. It was obvious that he was very keen to show Batista where he'd been born and raised. "You're gonna get on with Mom and Dad just great!"

Still, Batista shuffled nervously as the front doorbell rang, and visibly stiffened as the door was opened, revealing a well-dressed woman in her fifties who answered the door with a huge grin.

"Randy! Oh, _Randy,_ it's _so_ good to see you again!"

Before the younger wrestler could protest, she hadthrown her arms around himand started to cuddle him so enthusiastically thatBatista feared he would choke. Who would have thought that Randy's mom could execute a choke hold better than her own son? It was difficult, but Batista managed to swallow his laughter as the two of them were led into the kitchen and fed copious amounts of chocolate chip cookies and home-made lemonade. Randy's mother was, thankfully, very good to talk to, and Batista found himself telling her all about his first days with Evolution, eliciting nods of encouragement and interest from the older woman. It was easy to see how her son had inherited her kindness and open manner.

His father, too, proved to be a pleasant surprise. Far from being judgemental and critical of Batista, he engaged the big wrestler in conversation about the current state of wrestling, as well as the declining quality of the supposed Wrestling Divas and the lax behaviour of some of his ex-colleagues.Randy's parents were being so kind and welcoming, Batista thought, and they didn't even yet know that he had seduced their son. It soured his mood slightly, but Randy had insisted on him coming along for the weekend, so he was left with little else to do but be a model guest for his gracious hosts.

The long afternoon eventually became a pleasant winter evening, and after Randy's mother had excused herself and retired to bed, Bob Orton fetched the three of them a crate of beer as they settled around the fire and continued to chat.

"So,Randy, who's this special person you've found, hmm? is she hot?"

"_What_? Dad, when did I say anything about a special person?"

"Oh, c'mon, son! I wasn't born yesterday, y'know! It was obvious when I spoke to you on the phone that you'd found someone new. Are you going to enlighten me, or shall I get your mother to ask about it tomorrow?"

"I don't want Mum to know, not yet! I - hey!_ Dad_!" Randy flushed and squirmed in his seat, feeling like a cornered rat. "I don't have to tell you yet, do I? What am I, a teenager again?"

"C'mon, boy, spit it out! Whoever she is, she can't be worse than that floozy you brought home last year! What was her name again? Tess? Tish? Trish?"

"Dad! _Please_!" Randy stammered, blushing a deep shade of crimson and gesturing wildly with his hands. The last thing he needed right now was his father embarrassing him with stories of his past girlfriends. "She – _they_ – they're not like that at _all,_ dad!"

"They? It's a _'they'_ now? Now, boy, what did me and your ma tell you about seeing more than one girl at the same time?"

Batista couldn't resist sitting back and watching the conversation flow; it was cute to see Randy getting flustered, especially when he knew that _he _was essentially the topic of conversation. There was still that niggling feeling in his mind, though, that Bob Orton would disapprove of his son's new partner. Was he homophobic? Would he get angry like Triple H had done? Or would he refuse to acknowledge the existence of their relationship and mentally block everything out? Batista's thoughts wandered for a few moments as he wondered whether coming here to stay for a night was a good thing - but then his mind was harshly jerked back to reality by Randy's trembling voice.

"It's Batista, Dad. I... I'm seeing Batista."

"Oh."

Randy's father went ominously quiet. No abusive outbursts, no looks of shock and disgust; he merely went completely silent and stared down at his beer, heaving a deep sigh and shaking his head. Batista could only imagine how Randy would be feeling right now – guilt at having disappointed his father, shame in admitting his same-sex relationship, anguish as his heart was split in two, torn between his family and the man he loved.

Batista didn't feel so good himself, either. If he hadn't met Randy – if he hadn't seduced him, encouraged him to become a couple, then this awkward moment would never have happened. He shouldn't have come here and abused Bob Orton's hospitality; he almost felt dirty for doing so. He was just about to make his excuses and leave whenRandy's fatherraised his head again to stare at his son.Evidently, he'd been mulling over the shocking news, and he was now prepared to confrontRandy about his wayward behaviour.

"Randy." Bob Orton sighed again. "Son. I'm _very _disappointed in you, boy. Didn't I do a good job of raising you? Didn't I always tell you to strive for the best? The least you could have done would have been to bring home a title belt holder!"

And then, with a huge grin on his face, 'Cowboy' Bob Orton started to laugh. The ice had been broken; Batista had been accepted as Randy's boyfriend, and that meant more to him than all of the title belt matches in the world.

* * *

**March 3, 2003 - After The Weekend**

It was Monday afternoon, and Triple H and Flair were gearing up for another edition of RAW, preparing to introduce themselves to the fans whilst looking as good as possible. Triple H had gone to Flair as soon as he'd found out about Randy and Batista a few days ago, and had thought of little else all weekend. To think that the two of them had been carrying on under his nose for a whole week, and he hadn't even noticed! For someone who liked to think he knew everything, it chafed on his nerves far more than he cared to admit.

"Therewe have it, Ric." Triple H affirmed his words with astern nod. "Dave and Randy have got themselves a comfortable little relationship, and they seem to think we'll be okay with it. Don't you reckon that's just a teeny bit selfish of them?"

"Well, not really, Trips." Flair adjusted his tie and straightened the lapels on his suit-jacket. "I guess it's no different than if Batista had found a cute little girlfriend; it's just that the partner he ended up choosingcan pull off a betterclothesline. Besides, you yourself said you were worried about Batista's love-life affecting Evolution. At least if it's Randy, he isn't going to get distracted by some air-headed fan intent on breaking up the team."

"I suppose so," Triple H agreed grudgingly. "But what about the things the other guys might start saying to us? If Randy and Batista start acting like Chuck and Billy, Evolution will be the laughing stock of RAW!"

"No need to worry about your virility, Trips – we'll make sure your image stays as manly as you like." Randy Orton grinned as he stepped through the door, followed closely by Batista. "If anyone has anything to say about us, just make sure Dave knows about it, and they'll be lucky if they have a throat left to say anything with." They'd just arrived back from their weekend with Randy's parents, having received warm invitations to go and visit again anytime they chose.

Flair remained quiet, watching the exchange with a critical eye. As the father figure of Evolution, he considered it his duty to keep the peace amongst the team members, and that meant keeping an eye open for arguments. Admittedly, the news that Randy and Batista had become a couple had shaken him a little, but after a long career in wrestling he'd seen far too many things to remain phased for very long. After all, if two of Evolution's members decided to pair up, surely that strengthened the team as a whole? They could watch each others' backs without being asked, and they would fight together like a well-oiled machine, knowing each others' moves almost intimately.

"Welcome back, you two." Triple H didn't smile as Randy and Batista entered, but at least he didn't frown, either. Batista had expected him to still be infuriated on their return, but several days away from his two teammates seemed to have mellowed him somewhat. Perhaps Ric Flair had had a quiet word behind the scenes. "Are you ready for tonight?"

"As ready as we'll ever be." Batista stepped forward and gave the big man a curt nod. "Remind me, Trips - who is it you're up against tonight? Are you still trying to teach Booker T a lesson?"

"Some people just don't learn, Batista." The Game cracked his knuckles and squared his shoulders, displaying his large muscles in a show of strength. "Of course I'm going to teach him a lesson, and he'd better damn well remember it this time. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's having to beat the snot out of shit-heeled little upstarts time and time again."

"Of course." Batista nodded, but he couldn't help but feel Triple H's ego was getting the better of him again. "Good luck, anyway. Me and Randy will be on hand in case you need any help later, okay?"

"Sure thing, Batista. Sure thing."

The Game nodded in return and stepped from the dressing room, patting both Randy and Batista on the shoulder on the way out. He still seemed to be brooding a little, and Randy raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Flair as if to ask about Hunter's mood. Flair heaved a sigh and sat down on one of the benches, looking up at Randy with fatherly concern.

"Don't worry about him, Randy; he's just had a busy weekend. He was in the gym twice as long as usual, so he's probably just tired out. For what it's worth, you two are fine by me. Hell, if the two of you being together means you turn up to training on time and give Evolution all you've got, then I'm all for it. Just leave off the face-hugging while I'm around, hey?"


	12. Raise

The show went as well as expected that night; as it turned out, Triple H didn't need Batista and Randy to help him out after all, so the two of them enjoyed a relaxed evening watching the various matches on a large television backstage. After a brief meeting afterwards, during which Ric Flair had given Evolution an enthusiastic talk about tactics, the team members said their farewells for the night and headed off for the comfort of their hotel rooms.

"Hungry?"Randy turned to his partner and smiled as they stepped into their limo. "I don't know about you, but I could really grab a bite to eat right now."

"You're _still _hungry?" Batista grinned. "Randy, we must have polished off four whole trays of nachos and half a hot dog stand in there. You want to eat _again_?"

"I'm a growing man!" the younger wrestler pouted, patting his firm chest.

"Yeah, and you'll be growing outwards if you're not careful," the big man smirked, but he slid an arm about his partner's shoulders anyway. "Tell you what, how about I go to the store and get us some food before we go to bed? I need to pick some things up for breakfast, anyway."

"Sounds good to me." Randy approved of that idea, so he went up alone to the hotel room as Batista went off to find snacks.

* * *

It was late by the time Batista arrived back. He placed the bag of groceries down beside him, slipped the key card into the slot beside the door and stepped inside, grateful for the soothing coolness of the air conditioner. Their room was dark, the television being the only source of light, showing some late-night shopping drivel. Randy must have gone to sleep already. A quick glance over at one of the beds confirmed this, Randy's presence visible from the man-shaped lump curled up under the covers.

Two beds. Batista had to laugh at that. Even though his affection for Randy was no longer a secret – even though he and Randyhad their own hotel room – they'd still been given separate beds. It was as if everyone else was in denial. Still, they were sharing a room, that was what counted; and they could do what they wanted in there. Grinning contentedly, Batista opened the small fridge and stocked it with the milk and fruit he'd bought for breakfast.

That's when he heard the sound of sobbing.

"Randy?" he called softly, closing the fridge door, stepping closer to Randy's bed. "Randy… what's wrong, rookie? Are you crying?"

No reply. Just another series of sobs. Jesus! Whatever he was cut up about, it must be pretty damn bad. Batista sighed and sat down on the edge of his partner's bed, placing a hand on the huddled shape beneath the covers. "It's okay, Randy. I'm here now. I'll look after you. Whatever's wrong, I'll make it better."

"You can't help!" Randy gave a strangled cry from beneath the sheets, grabbing at his pillow, burying his face in its comforting softness. "It's… it… it doesn't matter! Leave me alone!"

"It _does _matter. If it's upsetting you, it matters to _me_." Batista laid his head down against Randy's side, still touching him with his hands, comforting him. "Tell me, Randy. Tell me what's wrong."

"He called me a faggot!" Randy tore his face away from the pillow and thrust his head from beneath the covers, practically screaming the words. "He called me a faggot, Dave! I'm not a faggot, am I? Tell me I'm not!"

"Fucking hell." Batista swore under his breath, and his grip on the bedsheets tightened. Fuckers! Who'd dare to call him that? Who would dare to insult his partner? It had been one thing for Edge todecide he disliked them, but for someone to start being homophobic and aggressive like that was another matter entirely. "Of course you're not, squirt. Don't let them say that. Who told you that, huh? Who said it?"

"M-Maven," Randy choked, gaining enough confidence under Batista's touch to emerge properly from his cocoon of sheets. "It was Maven, in the lobby downstairs. I just went down for some candy, and he came over, and sneered at me, and… and said that…"

"Ssh, it's okay, Randy." Batista kicked off his shoes and clambered up onto the bed beside his partner, heaving a weary sigh. He should have expected this. He should have expected some opposition to their unconventional relationship. Triple H and Ric Flair had been good with them so far, even if Hunter did stamp around and act like a sulky teenager sometimes. Sure, Flair had expressed concerns about Evolution's dynamics once he'd discovered the pairing, but as yet, his fears had proved unfounded. Usually, though, if anyone noticed the closeness between Batista and Orton, they were quiet about it. Maven, upsetting Randy like that? There was no call for it. No call at all.

"It's not true though, is it?" Randy continued to whimper, nuzzling Batista and wrapping an arm about the man's broad shoulders. Now that he was up close, Batista could see that Randy had been crying for some time; his eyes were red and his cheeks were stained with half-dried tears. "I mean, I like you, but I've never liked a man before the way I think about you… and I still think Stacy's pretty damn hot… and I like other women too…"

"Don't listen to him." Batista planted a soft kiss on the top of Randy's head. "He's just scared of what he doesn't understand. He's a bitter little shit for talking to you like that. Come on, Randy, he knows that together, we're unstoppable!"

"You bet we are!" Randy managed a slight smile at that, prompting another tight hug from Batista. "You and me, Dave… we'll show him, right?"

"Of course we will, runt." The older man nodded and ran his fingers tenderly through his partner's short hair. "You get some rest now, okay? I'll make sure Maven never treats you like that again. Hell, I'll make sure _nobody_ ever treats you like that again, Randy. Never, ever again."

* * *

"I know you're in there Maven. Let me in. I need to have a word with you." Batista was clad in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, his muscular arms left bare, displaying his tattoos and an expanse of tanned forearm. He'd barely slept last night, he'd been so angry that anyone could be senseless enough to upset Randy like that.

"Batista? Is that you?"

"Damn straight it's me." Satisfied that Maven was in his changing room, Batista wasted no time in charging right in, shoving the door open with a determined push. Maven was dressing for his next match, one leg planted up on a side bench as he laced up his boots. He glanced up as the big man entered, his eyes widening in surprise and fear; he hadn't expected Batista to barge in like that, and the fierce look on the leviathan's face left Maven in no doubt as to his mood. Still, the bald wrestler chose to be defiant, and set his jaw as he stood up to his full height.

"Shit, Batista. You look really pissed." Maven put on a brave face as Batista approached him, but inside, he was petrified. There was no way he'd ever be able to muster enough strength to fight back against the huge man.

"What do you _think_ is up?" Batista growled, making no attempt to hide his huge arms, the broad rippling chest beneath his tight shirt. "I'm not going to piss you around, Maven. Randy told me what you said. And I don't like it."

"You don't like it, huh? Then maybe you shouldn't make your little pretty boy eat so much dick."

"You want to _repeat _that?" Batista's size betrayed his impressive speed; despite his bulk, he could react quickly when he wanted, and it took barely a moment for him to close his meaty fingers about Maven's neck. "Because if you do, I suggest you hire someone to start watching your back. No-one calls Randy a faggot. _No-one._ Do you understand?"

Maven gurgled a little and nodded emphatically, eager to regain control of his own windpipe. Batista complied, his hand falling away from the smaller man's body, allowing him to rub at his neck and give a few gasping breaths.

"I understand," Maven spluttered, risking a glance up at the big man and starting to edge towards the door. "Of course I understand, Batista. I mean, you can't _help_ it that you and him are a pair of ass-obsessed Nancy freak-boys, right?"

Batista lunged at Maven again, incensed by the younger man's childish insults, but this time the bald wrestler proved too fast and managed to dart out of the door and down the corridor before he could be stopped. Growling, Batista sprinted to the doorway and glanced left and right, but of Maven, there was no sign. Damn it! The little brat was probably already hiding somewhere, giggling his stupid smug face right off.

This wasn't over; far from it. Batista wouldn't tolerate that kind of bullshit from anyone, least of all when it was directed towards Randy. One way or another, Maven was going to have to pay. As he considered how to get hold of the cocky young man, though, another thought came to mind; thus far, only Ric Flair and Triple H knew about his rlationship with Randy Orton. At least, that's what he'd thought. So how _had_ Maven jumped to such an apt conclusion?

There could only be one answer. _Edge._


End file.
